


His Beating Heart

by MaggieMaybe160



Category: Supernatural, Warm Bodies (2013)
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Almost Kiss, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anti-Possession Tattoos (Supernatural), Art, Bad Parent John Winchester, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Castiel Drives the Impala (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Cover Art, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Dean Winchester is Ben Braeden's Parent, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Domestic Fluff, Driving, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Pining, Scars, Showers, Slow Dancing, Smut, Spit As Lube, Tattoos, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Castiel, Zombies, almost necrophilia, loving touching squeezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/pseuds/MaggieMaybe160
Summary: Cas is a zombie. Dean is alive. Can I make it anymore obvious? Dean is in mourning while Cas eats some brains. What more can I say? Cas wanted him, he couldn’t tell because his mouth was rotted all to hell. All of his friends stuck up their nose trying to sniff out their next meal.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Meg Masters, past Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden
Comments: 55
Kudos: 86
Collections: SPN Media Big Bang 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely love the artwork sissyray84 made for this fic! It was amazing to work with them! Please check out their [art masterpost here](https://sissyray84.tumblr.com/post/616249624341233664/spn-mbb-master-art-post-hey-guys-this-year-i)! 
> 
> Also a huge thank you to [opal_galaxies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opal_galaxies) for being my beta reader and cheerleader throughout!

C roams. That’s all he ever seems to do nowadays. He roams about the airport and sometimes he stumbles and shuffles his way into town to grab a bite to eat. He can’t remember why he’s at the airport, but he’s made a good home here. 

C can’t remember his name. He wanders in an empty terminal and tries to remember what kind of a person he was before. There used to be a name attached to him, one that people would call and he’d answer to, but it had melted away, leaving a hard C that he clings to. There’s his clothes, too. They have a memory of who he once was, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. His suit is filthy. There are stains and smudges from all the meals he’s had since the new hunger took over. His tie is frayed and stuck backward. He can’t fix it. He doesn’t know how to tie a tie. Even if he did, his fingers are stiff. The trench coat that hangs limply, unbuttoned and untied has seen better days. He imagines it was once a light beige and clean. All that he can see now is the dirty brown splotched with multiple someone’s blood. 

He’s hungry, but his stomach doesn’t rumble. His eyes are vacant, his feet scraping the floor as he walks. The smell of rotting flesh that surrounds him should bother him, but he can’t smell it. Probably because he’s part of it. C is dead. Well, that’s unfair. He’s undead. 

Everyone at the airport is dead. The echoey halls are filled with the hordes of brain-seeking, hungry, groaning masses. There are no heartbeats. There are no memories shared, money exchanged, take-offs or landings. There’s just this: shuffling and groaning their way around. C can’t tell if they move constantly to keep from deteriorating further or if they got up after dying and just haven’t sat down again since. 

C makes his way to his favorite spot in the airport. A bank of seats faces a wide window that overlooks absolutely nothing. The tarmac is bare and so are the skies. His airplane, where he returns to time and time again, is on the other side of the airport and visible through a different window. But, you can’t argue with that view. The overgrown grass moves in the wind that C can’t feel. The smooth runways remain undisturbed. The sky is bare, naked, a pale blue with no clouds. 

A woman sits next to C. Her dark hair is matted. It has been for as long as C has known her. Her leather jacket has held up better than his trench coat. For that, he’s slightly jealous. Her name is M because that’s the only sound she could muster for the beginning part of their friendship. M was his friend in the sense that they would sometimes grunt and stare awkwardly at each other. 

Sometimes, they manage to scrape together enough sounds from the dusty language centers of their rotting brains to say an actual something. In this case, she lifts her arm like it weighs more than an airplane, pointing toward the exit and groans, “City.” 

The city is where the people are. The people are the food. C wishes they weren’t. If he weren’t so hungry right now, he might object and try abstaining from the whole ordeal, but he thinks that all the time and he never does. The new hunger is a very powerful thing. Not to mention, eating comes with perks. No matter how savage it is to crack open the skull of a human like it’s a melon while they scream and thrash about, the prize is intoxicating to C. 

Leaving the brain of the human and opting for a few bites of thigh or breast meat allows the once-living meal to rise up and follow the horde back to the airport. Cracking them open and eating the gray stuff (it’s delicious!) is the best part. It fills C’s head with memories, thoughts, and feelings that don’t belong to him. As long as he’s chewing and gulping down the brain, he gets a glimpse of their life. He lives through them as he dines and dashes because C would give anything to be alive again. 

C drags himself to a mostly upright position and shuffles along with M as they make their way through the crowds of undead to exit through baggage claim. A fair amount of the others follow. It wouldn’t be a horde of zombies if only one or two left at a time. Everyone is hungry, but only a few are hungry enough for the trek into town. It only makes sense to travel in packs when everyone and their grandmother is trying to shoot them all the time. 

C loves his home at the airport. He’s comfortable there and it’s far away from where the humans call home. Far enough away that he’s safe, but also conveniently close enough that it only takes about a day to walk there. Not that time means anything to the undead. They aren’t exactly celebrating birthdays anymore. 

This is going to take awhile…

. . .

Dean has been a soldier for far too long. His father had been a marine back when corpses didn’t roam the Earth. He had raised Sam and Dean to be excellent soldiers, following orders and hunting down the evil that still exists outside of the walls that had been erected around the city. 

It had been easy to establish a base. Dean’s father, John, had contacted all of his old military buddies at the first sign of the outbreak while everyone else was raiding and running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The actual military base was a mess of scared lieutenants and terrified civilians begging for refuge. While chaos raged, John took over a recently abandoned motel, using one room for an armory, and other rooms for friends and family to hide and barricade themselves into. 

Mary Winchester was a good mother. Her sons came first in her eyes, as many other children do in their mother’s eyes. John had sent her sons out to save people and hunt the things that were infected. Mary had seen Sam, her baby boy forever no matter how old he was, in harm's way. She made her decision and saved him, the teeth of the monster sinking into her as she watched Dean haul Sam away. As he did, she watched him raise his gun. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he pulled the trigger, killing his mother and keeping her from rising up like the rest of the corpses. 

Eight years later, the base had expanded beyond the motel and took up a sizeable chunk of the city. Metal walls surrounded by chain-link fences with barbed wire surrounded by a minefield of spikes protected the people. The motel became the sleeping quarters for the military personnel while the civilians made homes for themselves in the other abandoned buildings. 

“Coming, Sammy?” Dean calls as he shrugs on his coat. It’s time to go out for another scavenge. Their city is low on medical supplies, the only thing they haven’t been able to produce within their walls. The food grows in gardens near the kitchens, making food hunts unnecessary now. They even started making new clothes out of cloth scavenged from crafts stores and the wool they were able to sheer from their sheep. 

“Yeah.” Sam follows his older brother out of their motel room. They make their way to the new armory that’s set up at their exit. John Winchester stands there, ready to give a pep talk to his soldiers before ushering them out to go find supplies. 

There’s a small group already assembled, checking in and grabbing their weapons. Among the group is Lisa, Dean’s ex. It’s uncomfortable, but she was sworn in as a soldier. It was too late to change jobs. Dean takes his place beside her after grabbing his gun and ammunition. He keeps a knife in his boot too, but even his father doesn’t know about that. 

“Thank you for your service today, soldiers,” John says. Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. It’s the same speech every supply run. It could be a videotape playing on a screen for how practiced, cold, and distant it feels. Dean doesn’t listen anymore. He tunes it out as he silently dreams about going out and happening across a cure for the entire epidemic. A cure that would lower the walls of the city and set him free of this place. 

“Do you think we’re going to find a cure?” Dean asks after they’re released and safely on the outside of the city. 

“Nobody believes in a cure anymore, Dean,” Lisa says without looking at him. Sam claps a hand onto Dean’s shoulder before they continue walking. 

“Nice,” Dean says under his breath, rolling his eyes as he passes her. It didn’t use to be like this. She still cares about him. Dean can feel it. She’s just guarded and bruised from living in this hellhole for so long. Life hasn’t been kind to either of them. 

Dean pushes thoughts of their failed relationship behind him as he leads the group through the streets, his feet taking him toward a pharmacy he’d found but hadn’t had the chance to raid yet. 

When they arrive, they clear the building, strategically spacing out and checking behind doors and in every room. They signal to each other with signs that John had taught them. No one speaks until every room is cleared. 

“Alright, pack up as much as you can carry! We’ve hit the jackpot!” Dean announces, tossing empty duffle bags to everyone. 

“Are you going to help us out or what?” Lisa asks as Garth picks up a snow globe to inspect it. 

Garth stutters, trying to explain how he is helping. Snow globes could raise morale. Dean shoots Lisa a look. 

“Lighten up, Lees,” Dean says as he props open his bag. 

“I don’t know why he’s a soldier anyway. He’s not built to be out here.” This might be true. Garth is sweet and mild. He worked with the children before he had enlisted. The shortage of soldiers had people who had no right to be there signing up. Garth just wanted to help. 

“He completed his training. He has every right to be here.”

“Did you hear that?” Sam asks, cutting off Dean’s heroic attempt at standing up for Garth. Dean shakes his head after listening for a second. He opens his mouth to continue to argue his point when he hears a crash. “I told you I heard something,” Sam says, looking toward the door. 

“Positions,” Dean orders, raising his gun. 

“There’s nothing there,” Lisa says after a moment, lowering her gun. “You just want to get out of doing your job.” She shakes her head and turns around to face Dean again. 

“Lisa!” Dean yells as a horde comes rushing through the door behind her. She turns, raising the butt of her gun to slam into the face of the closest corpse. 

The rancid smell of rotting flesh fills the room as the corpses flood in, gnashing their teeth and groaning. There’s more of them than there are of Dean’s group. The danger of the situation fades to the background as Dean gives in to his training. His face sets, his shoulders relax, he exhales as he squeezes the trigger. 

Killing a corpse is easy in theory. All someone has to do is shoot the son of a bitch in the head. Hitting a target is easy. It’s propped up on a wooden stick, the target painted bright red. Hitting a corpse is easy when the thing is alone and the shot it clear with no other human in the way. Dean is a good shot, but with Lisa, Sam, Garth, and a handful of other people in front of him, all shooting and fighting the dragging, snarling, shuffling, attacking mess of beings that used to be alive, the shots are less clear and he has limited ammunition. 

Lisa climbs onto a counter to get a good vantage point and starts shooting from there. Dean doesn’t see the corpse, but he watches her go down, pulled off the counter after a few good shots are taken. She screams, but Dean can’t go to her. It’s already too late and he knows it. 

Her screams fill Dean’s ears. Her cries are louder than the gunfire. His heart remains steady, his breathing even, his eyes down the scope of his gun. He hates listening to his people die. It’s worse when the one dying was a friend, an ex-lover, the mother of his child. There’s a loud crack and her screaming finally stops. 

. . .

C can smell the warm meal as soon as he reaches the building. There’s no other telling sign of life except for the delicious scent of a beating heart. C leads the way inside, pushing against the door and stumbling in when it gives way. 

C shuffles down the hallway a little faster than he normally would as his hunger grows. He’s following the smells, but also the sounds. Inside the building, he can hear bickering. M trips over her foot that’s been at an odd angle since their last hunt. A loud crash comes as she lifts herself, her hand knocking an old frame off the wall. 

It’s time. C throws the door open, his mouth attempting to salivate as he snarls and —  _ thack! _ C is hit in the face immediately. If he could feel, it would hurt. As it is, he’s just mildly annoyed that the gun to the face made him lose his balance and put off eating by just that much. 

When C looks up again, pushing himself up off the floor, his eyes land on the chiseled, attractive face of a man. His short hair is a beautiful light brown, his eyes a shocking green. His lips are pursed as he fires his gun. The stubble that covers his jaw ends just at the start of his throat. He looks like a ten-course meal that C could never eat. 

C manages to get to his feet, his still heart begging to get closer to the man. As soon as he’s on his feet, his shoulder is hit by a bullet. The offending gun belongs to the same meal that had knocked him to the ground in the first place. What an inconvenience. 

“Bye, motherfuck-” C grabs her ankles and yanks her off the counter before she can finish speaking. She tries to hold onto the gun as she screams. C sinks his teeth into her thigh, gulping down the tender, juicy meat. Blood spurts from her jeans as she continues to struggle. 

C feels like a monster as he grabs her hair and slams her head into the ground. The rest of her is a great meal and all, but the brains are the best part. C isn’t one for recruiting, either. He always feels bad when their group expands. He shouldn’t think about that. He can’t think about that… not as her skull finally splits. He forces his fingers into the cracked bone and pulls the skull open, scooping the bloody brains from the bowl. 

C can’t wait anymore. He shoves the first handful into his mouth. The brain is perfectly chewy and tough, more blood leaking into his mouth with every bite. As he swallows, he can feel the old memories of hers. He can see her old thoughts. He feels alive. 

. . .

A little girl looks in the mirror. She has a perfect pink bow in her hair. She doesn’t notice that her yellow sweater is buttoned wrong, one part sticking up into her chin. To her, she looks perfect. First day of school jitters run through her as she picks up her lunchbox and runs out the door.

Ten different versions of the same girl, running from ages five to fifteen get onto the bus. All of the memories of stepping onto the school bus all fold together. The accumulated years, memories stacked on memories, are a colorful blur. 

She’s older now, excitement flowing through her as she hands over her ID, declaring her new age of twenty-one. Her eyes meet the exciting green ones over the bar. A flirtatious smile across the stranger’s lips sends a thrill up her spine as she smiles back. Her heart speeds up as he nods to the bartender and pays for her drink, raising his own in a silent cheers. 

“Dean!” she moans, her back arched in ecstasy. Their fingers are twined together over her head as his lips graze her neck. She keeps her legs wrapped around him as he thrusts into her. 

She’s in the front of a room, yoga clothes cling to her body as she walks up and down the quiet aisles, making small adjustments to her students as she goes. Her mind is on Dean. 

Lying side by side in the grass, Dean holds onto Lisa’s hand as they talk. He looks up at the sky as she gazes at his profile, her eyes tracing the shape of his nose and lips. 

“My mom used to say that angels were watching over me,” Dean says, finally looking over at her. “I don’t believe it anymore. The world is so fucked up.”

“Not all of it,” Lisa whispers. She touches the tip of her nose to Dean’s to emphasize her point.

“Cheese ball.” Dean laughs as he closes the gap, kissing her and pinning her to the ground gently. 

The memories flicker, repeating and doubling over each other, her moans cascading, Dean’s smile as intoxicating as the birthday shots, school buses, and teaching tripping over each other. The memories fade out as C swallows down the meat and shoves the rest of the brain matter into his trenchcoat’s pockets.   
  


. . .

Dean looks up to find one of the corpses making its way toward him. Its mouth is smeared with fresh blood and the cold blue eyes stare vacantly into Dean. 

Out of ammo, the gun on the floor, Dean reaches down to grab the knife from his boot. The thing keeps coming, its feet dragging lazily on the floor. Dean throws his knife in a practiced move, the blade embedding itself in the corpse’s chest. 

It looks down, a look of annoyance crossing its face. Can corpses get annoyed? It’s probably just Dean projecting human emotions onto the thing. Dean backs up as the corpse grabs the handle of the knife and pulls it out, dropping it to the floor.

“D- Deee-eean-n,” it groans, the word broken up and drawn out. Dean’s heart stops in his chest, fear rocketing through him. Corpses can’t talk and this one is now face to face with him. He sinks to the floor slowly, the thing crouching with him, keeping their eyes locked and at the same level. 

All Dean can see is the intense, pale blue of the corpse’s eyes. The color is weirdly pretty, vacant of living color, but bright and hopeful anyway. He tries to focus on it, trying not to breathe through his nose. Everything about this blue-eyed thing is dead, except for the way it’s looking at him. 

“Dee-eeeeeann?” it tries again. Dean feels wrong thinking of the corpse as an  _ it _ , a thing. It used to be a human and from the looks of it, a man who wore suits. 

A few snarls make his pale blue eyes widen. He looks down at the knife wound in his chest. Dean grimaces as he watches the corpse in front of him use his stiff fingers to scoop up the stale blood that’s oozing from his chest. He lifts his wet fingers to Dean’s face. 

Dean shuts his eyes tight at the cold contact. The fingers are slimy as they press the rancid blood into his skin. Once his fingers are gone, Dean can still feel the slime on the right side of his face trailing down his neck. 

He leans in close and Dean can hear him sniffing in the scent of rot that now covers Dean. He sits back a little and makes intense eye contact with him again. “Sa-aafe,” he declares in a breathy groan. “C-come.” The cold hand that had left Dean smelling like a corpse tightens on Dean’s hand. He pulls Dean to his feet, weirdly strong for someone so…well… dead. 

As Dean is lead out of the room, his hand still clutched in the cold grip of the trenchcoat corpse, he looks down to find Sam curled up under a counter. Their eyes meet and they exchange a panicked look before Dean looks back at the messy dark hair of his captor and follows him out of the pharmacy. 


	2. Chapter 2

C has officially lost his mind. He’s kidnapped a living, breathing, heart-beating, beautiful, stunning, gorgeous — Where was that sentence going? Right. He’s kidnapped Dean. 

The walk from the city had seemed longer than usual with Dean’s hand in his. No one else seemed to notice that Dean wasn’t one of them. With C’s smell to mask him, Dean was safe among the undead. His hand was in a tight fist, refusing to relax in C’s grasp. His breaths had remained shallow for the entire journey. Either his instincts were protecting him, or he knew that a human’s natural breathing rhythm would surely be noticed. 

C feels embarrassed as he leads Dean onto the tarmac for the last leg of their trek to the airplane. The rest of the group had dispersed, leaving C alone with Dean for the first time. C leads Dean up the stairs to the main door and lets go of Dean’s hand to open the door. 

Surprisingly, Dean doesn’t make a run for it. He stays still until C steps to the side and gestures stiffly for Dean to enter the airplane. Dean’s striking green eyes drag from C’s face to his hand that hangs awkwardly in the air, vaguely pointing into the plane. 

C looks over Dean’s shoulder, seeing his home for the first time with fresh eyes. He should have cleaned up before bringing guests over. He keeps collections of things that remind him of humanity around the airplane. Seats and overhead bins are spilling over with trinkets and knick-knacks that the dead have no right keeping. 

C can feel the weight of his latest trinket in his pocket. He’d taken a necklace from her, yanking it from her blood-spattered neck after he’d taken his first bites of her brain. He doesn’t dare add it to his collection now. Dean would see and he would know that C is just a monster who killed his lover. 

Dean steps into the plane and quickly curls himself into a first-class seat. He can see the fear covering Dean’s face. Exhaustion from the walk is setting in for Dean’s human legs and feet now that the adrenaline of being kidnapped is no doubt wearing off. C wishes he could feel that exhaustion. He wants a reason to sit down and rest.

“Hhhomme,” C says. Dean only cringes away from him. C internally sighs as he tries to think of a way to ease Dean’s worries. He’s not trying to make him into a meal. He wants to be near him, absorb his humanity and observe his attractive qualities. He wants to keep him safe from the other dead people. He wants to be close to him. 

C takes a seat in the chair across the aisle from Dean. He tries to think of a way to make himself look less like a monster that just ate his girlfriend and more like a good-looking, good-natured human. C pats his hair. He can feel it sticking in every direction, but he just didn’t care before now. He tries flattening it, unsure of if it worked, before he looks up at Dean. 

“Not… eat,” C says with great difficulty. Dean continues to try to push himself into the wall of the airplane. The moonlight from the window hits his face and C can see the tears on Dean’s cheeks. He’s still terrified. Maybe he didn’t understand. C lifts his hand and points to Dean before himself. He bites the air and shakes his head, trying desperately to get his point across. 

Dean looks away for the first time, closing his eyes and letting himself cry. If C’s heart could sink, it would. “K-k-eep yoou sssa-afe,” C tries again. This is the most he’s spoken for as long as he can remember. The conversations he has with M are usually one word every couple of months. What is it about Dean that makes him want to be human more desperately than before? 

Dean looks back over at him. He’s getting somewhere with this broken speech. C stands and immediately regrets it as Dean flinches. He’s still afraid of him. He needs some space. He needs to mourn and rest. 

C shuffles down the walkway back to the door. It takes everything in him not to turn around to look at Dean before he leaves. This was a terrible idea. C never should have brought him here. He doesn’t know how to keep a human alive. He just knows that he wants to be one and craves Dean’s presence. 

C looks over his shoulder at the plane to find Dean with his face pressed against the window, looking out at the tarmac that has since filled with the undead.  _ “I’m sorry,” _ C thinks before he turns away again to continue walking. 

C thinks about going into the airport to find M, but he doesn’t want to face her right now. She doesn’t know about Dean yet, but he can’t take any chances. 

C wanders, not sure where else to go. He just keeps walking to get away from everyone else. He finds himself in a part of the airport he’s never been to before: the parking garage. There’s tons of cars all parked neatly in their spots. Some have doors ajar. Others seem to be untouched. All of them are forgotten, dusty, and alone. 

C drags his feet as he walks up and down the aisles of vehicles. There’s blood smears on some of the relics in this garage, telling a story of struggle when the new hunger first took over. C doesn’t remember that time. He just knows that he doesn’t like seeing those marks on society. He looks away and keeps walking. Tucked away in the dark, C happens across a good looking car. He runs his finger down the side of it as he looks in the windows. If it were a toy, he would pocket it to keep in his airplane. As it is, C fumbles with the door handle before half falling into the driver’s seat. 

Alone, C sits for a moment, his hands on his legs as he tries to remember a time he was ever in a car. All he can see around him is the dark garage. No memories flood him, bringing him the knowledge of what to do in a car and where to put his hands. He sits in silence, trying to summon memories. Guiltily, he looks down at his pocket where the leftovers of Lisa’s brains rest. He usually eats his take-out in the cockpit of his airplane so he doesn’t run the risk of being found by an unfriendly, hungry, dead person, but the front seat of a car in an empty garage will do just as well. There’s many ways to get to know a love interest. Eating their lover’s brains is one of the more unorthodox methods, but who’s going to tell? Certainly not C as he dips his hand into his pocket and brings up a sizeable handful of brain meat. He’s still hungry, too. It’s not all about the memories; just mostly.

. . .

Lisa stares down at the food on her plate. Stir-fry is one of her favorite meals, but right now she can barely keep herself breathing. She closes her eyes and keeps her lips shut tight, silently telling herself not to throw up. 

“What’s wrong? Did I make it wrong?” her roommate asks across from her. Lisa breathes in through her nose and can’t keep it together anymore. She opens her eyes and runs down the hallway, hurling into the toilet. 

She feels a hand on her back and another in her hair, holding it back from falling into the splash zone. When she’s finished, she leans back and looks up into the worried eyes of her best friend. 

“What’s up?” Dean asks, handing Lisa a coffee. She’d asked him to meet her here. Part of her thought he wouldn’t show up. 

“I have some news.” Lisa swallows hard, nervous as she leads him to a seat. It’s been a few weeks since she’d last seen him. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him, but with him sitting across from her, she feels the same rush as their first kiss in the bar. “I’m pregnant.” 

The memory stutters, repeating Dean’s shocked expression as she says “I’m pregnant.” 

“This is Lisa,” Dean says. “Lees, this is my brother, Sam, and this is my dad.”

“John,” Dean’s dad introduces himself, holding out a hand. Lisa takes it, still nervous and nauseous. “Dean never brings home his dates.” 

“Be nice,” a blonde woman says, coming to the door late. She grins and takes Lisa’s hand. Warmth and the feeling of protection flood Lisa. “I’m Mary, Dean’s mom.” 

The memory skips and they’re sitting around a table. John pours wine into her glass and her eyes find Dean’s. Her hand instinctively goes to her stomach, but she smooths out her shirt to cover the movement. 

“So why did Dean bring you home? Did he knock you up?” Sam jokes, taking a bite of his carrot. Mary bats Sam’s shoulder. 

Dean clears his throat uncomfortably and the room goes silent. He slides Lisa’s wine away from her plate and takes a deep breath as they hold hands. 

“I was going to wait until the end of the meal. Thanks, Sammy.” 

“A word,” John says, throwing his napkin down and leaving the room. Dean untangles his hand from Lisa’s and follows his father out of the room. 

“It really is just lovely news,” Mary tries, but Lisa can still hear the slap that comes from the next room. 

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from the sitter?” Dean asks Lisa as they walk through the city. 

“I mean, I haven’t heard from them and I’m worried, Dean.” Panic rises as Dean starts to pick up the pace. He’s at a jog, Lisa’s hand tight in his. “Our little boy,” Lisa chokes. 

“He’s fine! You hear me?” Dean yells. Lisa nods, forcing herself not to cry as they run.

“Ben!” Lisa calls, relief taking over as she spots her son. 

“Lisa,” Dean grabs her arm and yanks her back. Ben turns around slowly. His skin has paled, his brown eyes dulled. Blood stains his skin and shirt. The other undead behind him fade as Lisa screams. 

The park where the dead had gotten into the city was boarded up, blocked off, and the city got just a little bit smaller. 

“Dean, talk to me,” Lisa pleads. 

“I just need to walk. I can’t think in here.” Dean’s voice is thick with tears. She follows slightly behind him as he makes his way to his secret exit. He pulls back a board that blocks off the entrance to an abandoned subway and ducks inside. They stay silent as they walk past the empty ticket booths and avoid the tracks. At their next exit, they do the same thing, pulling away a heavy sheet of metal and replacing it after they make it to the outside. 

It’s dangerous outside the walls, but they’re both trained to be. They have their guns and knives and a small container with their son’s ashes. 

Instead of walking through the city, Dean takes a shortcut through the mall. It’s been abandoned and cleaned out of any corpse so it’s safer. They make their way through the rundown mall, their guns drawn, until they make it to the exit on the other side. Nearby is the bar where Dean and Lisa had first met. Lisa looks up at her boyfriend, but he won’t look at her. 

“I’m sorry you ever met me,” Dean says in a low voice. 

“I’m not,” Lisa promises. She steps closer to him and presses a kiss into his cheek, her own tears mixing with his. “There’s no better place,” she whispers after a moment. 

“A bar?” Dean laughs humorlessly. 

Together, they cry, grieving on the front step of the bar where they had met. The bar that had the back room where their son was conceived. 

“Ben!” Lisa screams. Dean’s arms hug her against him, keeping her from running toward their undead son. A hungry groan comes from Ben and Dean wraps his arms tightly around Lisa, lifting her as he half-drags, half-carries her away as tears slide down his cheeks.

. . .

C sits back in his seat, the memories ringing through him. After seeing Dean’s son like that, the pain Lisa felt filling C’s want for emotion in the most painful way, he understands why Dean is so afraid of him. He needs to show Dean that he’s not like that. He would never hurt him. He wants to protect him and more than anything, he wants to feel like a human. He’s not a mindless zombie. 

C makes his way out of the car with some difficulty, still a battle between his dead fingers and the door handle. He makes his way back out of the garage and around the airport, staying on the tarmac as he makes his way back to the airplane. Back to Dean.   
  


. . .

The corpse that had kidnapped Dean walks off into the night and Dean watches. His escape is blocked by a minefield of the living dead. He gets up to go to the door, making sure he’s locked inside, away from the monsters. 

Dean hates airplanes. They’re too heavy to be allowed to fly. When they do fly, which used to be often, there was a one in an eleven million chance that they would crash, plummeting from the sky and killing the passengers. Not to mention they’re cramped with no leg room for anyone over five foot. The only air to breathe is recirculated, sickness blasting into the face of the people who dare to turn on their air conditioner nozzle. All in all, airplanes are flying death traps made out of festering petri dishes and Dean hates them. 

When Dean turns around again, to face his prison chamber, he sees piles of things. Random collections, all seemingly organized, line the walkways, taking up seats and luggage bins. Dean starts looking through the piles, searching for something to protect himself with, the knife he used to carry still on the floor of the pharmacy that he’d been taken from. 

Dean skips over the records and the stacks of movies as he makes his way into the more randomly assorted bins. Some of the things are splattered with blood, making Dean think that this is a bin of souvenirs from kills. That sounds more like a serial killer than an undead freak, but before today, Dean had never heard a corpse talk either. 

Dean’s hand finds the somewhat dull blade of a dagger. He runs his fingers down the blade gently until he finds the handle. He takes it out of the bin to examine it. It could definitely do with some love. A little sharpening and cleaning and this thing could be a new favorite knife. Dean hangs it on his belt as he continues looking, hoping for a gun. 

When his search yields no results, he sits back down in one of the cramped airplane seats and watches out the window to make sure no intruder is unannounced. 

There’s been no time to mourn for the loss of his crew or Lisa. Looking out the window, humming Some Kind of Monster by Metallica to keep calm, Dean realizes he finally has time. Time that he’s spending staring out the window to ensure his survival, but time all the same. The entire walk to the airport he had spent in survival mode, his emotions locked up tight as he kept pace with the dead around him. His mind had remained purposefully blank as he was kidnapped. 

Lisa is dead. Dean hopes she stays dead. He hadn’t seen her on his way out. If he had, he might have shot her to make sure she didn’t rise up like Ben had. He feels strange about the whole thing. Numb. Once upon a time, they had been sure they would love each other forever. They moved in together and raised their son. They had started to fight after Ben was born, but every couple fights. That’s what Dean told himself. He had to keep telling himself that through every night spent on the couch and every argument that led to slammed doors and no resolution. The only time they felt that love they had once felt was watching Ben. Their son was the best of their lives. When he drew a picture of the three of them for the first time, it ended a week long fight between Lisa and Dean. He was their glue, the light of their lives. When his light went out, Lisa and Dean barely spoke. They moved into separate living spaces. They fought whenever they did speak. They broke up almost exactly a year ago, and now Dean is mourning her death. 

He had lost so much of his broken little family that all he can focus on is his little brother, still living and breathing and alive. Sam had somehow hidden from the monsters. He had to have made it back. The thought of Sam still being alive and safe is the only thing keeping Dean together as he wipes his hand over his face to clear the tears. 

Dean massages his leg, the tired muscles finally registering the pain from walking for a full day without rest. There was no reason for the undead to pause, take a drink, and sit on a pile of rubble to catch their breath, and in his state of shock, Dean hadn’t needed to either. His hand had remained in a tight fist inside of the trench-coat-corpse’s hand. He stretches out his fingers, looking down at them briefly before looking back up.

In the distance, returning to the airplane that is Dean’s prison, the trench-coat-corpse shuffles and limps his way across the tarmac. Dean’s grip on the dagger tightens as he moves to the far side of the plane and sits down. He feels himself locking down his fear again, the tears stopping as he abruptly stops shaking. Shock or military training, it doesn’t matter. Dean keeps his eyes on the door, the blade pointed outward as a single defensive claw. 


	3. Chapter 3

C walks up the stairs that lead to his home. His last meal feels like a brick in his stomach. Dean’s fear makes sense when C sees it all laid out like that. To him, the new hunger is just that: a fad diet that went too far. To Dean, it’s an epidemic that ripped his family apart. 

He walks into the airplane and shuts the door behind him. When he turns around, he finds Dean perched in a different seat than the one he had curled into originally. He’s holding a knife and his beautiful green eyes are dark and cold. C hadn’t seen Dean pick up his knife before they’d left yesterday. This one was either new or Dean had more weapons hiding. C decides to go with the latter, deciding to be on the safer side as he reaches up to an overhead bin. 

“What’re you doing?” Dean demands. C wishes he had a good set of vocal cords so he can tell Dean that he’s grabbing him a blanket. “Please, leave me alone,” Dean says, his voice crumbling under the exhaustion he must feel. The kind of exhaustion C doesn’t have but craves. 

C fans out the complimentary airline blanket and drapes it over Dean’s shoulders. It’s the only thing he can think of to do to demonstrate how he wants to take care of this terrified human. 

“Why me?” Dean asks, his knife lowering a little. “Why did you save me?”

_ “What’s the matter?” _ C wants to ask as he stares into Dean’s eyes. After everything he’s seen from Lisa’s memories so far, C can finally see the truth. “ _ You don’t think you deserve to be saved,”  _ he thinks. 

Dean, who has lost everything, doesn’t find himself worthy of being kept safe from harm, rescued from a gruesome death when others died. He doesn’t see why he deserves anything right now, and probably hasn’t for a long time. C wants to change that. 

C is the one who gripped him tight and dragged him from that hellish room. 

. . .

The corpse moves after a full minute of silent staring. Dean automatically raises his weapon again and watches as he turns away, looking slightly hurt. Everything is weird about this guy. He doesn’t act dead. There are thoughts behind his blue eyes. Of that, Dean is sure. 

The corpse walks over to a stack of records and flips through them with his stiff fingers. He picks one up and blows the dust off of it gently, his breath stuttering as if from disuse. Dean reminds himself that this particular being probably doesn’t breathe on a regular basis. 

He places the record down on a turntable that Dean had somehow missed during his scavenger hunt for the dagger he’s still clinging to. The crackling of the needle hitting the disc tells Dean that despite the run-down appearance of the airport and plane, there’s enough energy to power the thing. 

Patience by Guns ‘n’ Roses starts playing, the high whistle filling the cabin of the plane as the corpse takes his seat across from Dean. 

“S-s-safe,” he breathes. “Kee-eep you s-safe.” He closes his eyes and sways stiffly to the music. 

“What are you?” Dean whispers, lowering his knife again as he watches. 

The corpse looks up and points to a Christmas tree ornament that hangs from the bin above. It’s a small angel with white wings and a small harp. Circles of red make its smile a cheery rosy one, a stark contrast to the deathly pallor of the man pointing to it. The gesture mixed with the repeated promise of safety, Dean reads it as an answer:  _ I’m your guardian angel. _

“ _ More like zombie _ ,” Dean thinks, putting his knife down in the seat next to him as he relaxes. 

"Some guardian angel you are,” Dean sighs. “Figures mine would be dead.” 

The music begins to lull Dean. He tries to fight it, blinking his eyes open every time he notices they’ve closed for too long. His zombie guardian angel stays in his seat, unmoving, faced turned toward Dean with an unreadable expression. He does not want to sleep. Something tells him he’s safe to, though. If he was dinner, he would have known it by now. The waves of exhaustion crash over Dean and he finally allows himself to rest. 

. . .

C doesn’t know what the line is, but he’s sure he’s crossed it as he silently promises to watch over Dean as he sleeps. He turns off the record and takes his seat again, his entire focus on the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen.

Dean’s head falls, resting at an odd angle against his own shoulder. The short facial hair scratches against the blanket each time his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that C had long since forgotten about. He tries to imitate it, but his lungs are stiff with disuse and instead of the serene feeling he was expecting, he groans with discomfort. 

Dean’s face is illuminated by the moonlight that streams in through the window. For the first time, C can make out freckles. He had been too focused on the green of his eyes and the fear of losing him after just meeting him to notice them before. That, and they had been hidden under a layer of dirt and C’s blood. After Dean’s crying, they appear, a smattering of angel kisses; a rainbow after the rain. 

Dean’s lips part, a soft snore escaping as he moves his head to a less awkward angle. His hair is getting messy with every turn. The spikes are adorable. 

Everything about Dean is alive. C can practically hear his heartbeat, though it helps that he can see the gentle pulse in Dean’s neck. His tossing and turning keeps him moving, but even when he lies still, his breathing and beating heart are telltale signs of life. C yearns to feel alive, to be human. 

C doesn’t know if he wants to be him or wants him. As Dean lets out a soft sigh, C thinks, “ _ Why can’t it be both? _ ” 

Hours pass. To C, it feels like seconds ticking into days. He could stay like this forever. 

. . .

On the thin line that separates sleeping from waking, Dean begins to remember that he’s the protected hostage of a corpse. The rancid smell of rotting flesh surrounds him, turning his empty stomach. He rubs the sleep from his eyes before dragging his hand down his face and opening his eyes. 

Still in his seat from the previous night is the corpse. His unblinking blue eyes are fixed on Dean. Uncomfortable, Dean shoves his blanket off quickly. It crumples to the floor and he looks away, hoping the corpse will too. He doesn’t.

“I’m hungry,” Dean announces, his voice rough from dehydration. Anger bubbles up in him as the corpse doesn’t respond in any way. Maybe it had just been a fever dream that he had spoken yesterday. “Just let me go.” 

“Nnnot s-safe.” He shakes his head stiffly. So it hadn’t been a dream. 

“Not safe?” Dean scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Uh-huh. Not safe,” he grumbles under his breath. “Well then, you’re just going to have to go get me food.” He hears how rude it sounds as soon as it’s out of his mouth. He cringes inwardly. He would never talk to another person that way. While this corpse isn’t exactly alive, he can talk and obviously has thoughts enough to be considered a human. Dean clears his throat awkwardly and looks over at the corpse again. He does look a little hurt. “Please. I would be very grateful for some food.”

The corpse nods, understanding his task. “Okay,” he manages as he gets up from his seat. Dean watches him walk through the plane and back to the only exit. The others are blocked off by the piles of collectibles and stashes of worthless junk. Even if they were clear, massive inflatable slides bursting out of the side of a plane would attract a lot of unwanted attention. 

The second Dean is alone in the plane, he rushes to the window to see if his escape is clear. The tarmac has one corpse wandering across it and he’s wearing a filthy trench coat. Dean watches him walk. He needs to get out of here. Dehydrated and starving or not, Dean knows he needs to get back to the city that’s a long walk away. He has to make sure Sam made it back. 

As soon as his friendly corpse is out of sight, Dean hurries to the door and takes the steps two at a time. When his feet touch the tarmac, his heart leaps with exhilaration at the promise of escape. He breaks into a run. 

. . .

C hears the door to his plane open and shut from across the tarmac. The heavy, mouth-watering smell of human meat fills the air. Dean didn’t stay in the airplane. Panic surges through C. He had worked so hard to protect him and just like that, he could be gone if someone else gets to him first. The others can no doubt smell his rich aroma. 

C turns around as quickly as he can and spots Dean. He’s fast. That isn’t something that’s going to help him. Being fast in a sea of the sluggish is a target painted onto him as if his delicious smell wasn’t enough of an attraction. C tries to move quickly yet inconspicuously as he sees the others wandering toward the smell of their next meal. 

Crouched behind the wheel of another plane, Dean successfully corners himself. C manages to hunch over as he reaches the plane and reaches toward Dean, fear of losing him tearing through him. Dean gasps, turning around quickly and C puts his hands up. 

“Fuck,” Dean pants, catching his breath. He seems to calm instantly with C there. 

“Don’t.... R-r-un,” C warns, glancing meaningfully from Dean to the hordes of the hungry. When C looks down at his chest wound, he’s disappointed. Being dead has an advantage: you don’t bleed. In this case, it’s a disadvantage, because the rotten bloody goop is a limited supply. C dips his fingers into the cut and brings out enough to smear onto Dean’s face and neck again.

Dean closes his eyes and cringes with disgust as he’s given his mask. C feels a thrill go through him as his fingers stroke Dean’s cheek and trail the blood onto his collar bone. He smells him, leaning close. It’ll do, but if Dean needs saving again, he’ll have to stab C again. 

He sits back, nodding to Dean. “C-come. Safe.” 

C pulls at Dean’s jacket sleeve as he gets up, making sure Dean follows him. He feels Dean grab onto his arm and tries to ignore his stomach flipping. As soon as they’re both upright, Dean lets go of C. 

“Be...dead,” C instructs. He demonstrates a slow walk, his arms stiff as he groans. “Okay?” Dean nods.

They start walking, C leading, when Dean starts making a terrible noise. It sounds like he’s trying to make himself retch. Worried, C turns to see Dean as tense as he can get, his arms raised as if he’s in a zombie movie. 

“T-too… mu-uch.” 

How Dean had managed to stay disguised for the entire walk to the airport, C will never know. Dean is a panicked mess right now. He lowers his arms, keeping his elbows locked and hands in fists. He continues his awkward throat gurgle, but no one else seems to be able to tell that he’s human. 

“I t-told you,” C hisses when they’re far enough away from the others. “Not. Safe.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” Dean relaxes beside C. He continues his weird stagger, but his shoulders and arms have released the fake tension. “I really am hungry though.” 

There’s an old food court in the airport. The dead stay away from it. There’s no reason to hang around there. The moldy food in the display cases have their own stench that differs entirely from the flesh-rotting air that surrounds the dead. 

C leads Dean through the airport and walks to the empty food court. Despite his longing to be human, even he stays away from this part of the airport. He watches as Dean looks in the display cases at the bad food. 

“Yahtzee,” he says to himself, hopping over the counter. C wanders over to watch as Dean starts piling canned foods into a canvas bag that had, at one time, been on sale for fifteen dollars. He empties the fridge that hasn’t worked in years and hoists the heavy bag onto his shoulder. “Lead the way,” he says with a grin. It’s like watching the sun come out. C would give anything to see that smile every day. 

They walk back without incident, though C remains wary of every path they take, knowing that if he runs into M, she will know that Dean is not one of them. He is other, an outsider, a living, breathing human. 

As soon as they are safe inside of C’s airplane once again, Dean sits in a seat near the front and starts digging into his bag. He stabs into a can of mixed fruit with the knife he’d been defending himself with the night before. 

Dean takes a plastic fork from the bag and starts shoveling the fruit into his mouth as C goes into the front of the plane. There’s a cooler there that holds beer he’d stashed years ago. Dean’s bag of goodies only holds water bottles and canned foods. C holds the beer out to him and Dean looks up at him with a soft smile. He takes it hesitantly. 

“Thank you.” C watches as Dean pops the top off on the armrest of the seat. He takes a swig and nods, grinning. “Oh, man. I can’t remember the last time I had a beer.” 

C tries not to think about Lisa’s memory of Dean drinking across the bar. 

“You can’t be that bad mister zombie,” Dean says, taking another bite of his food. 

“M-my na-ammme…” C tries, but he realizes that he has nowhere to go from there. He had lost his name years before like someone loses their keys. 

“You have a name?” Dean asks, clearly surprised. C nods enthusiastically. “What’s your name?”

C closes his eyes, desperately trying to remember it. “Ccccccck...Cccccck…” 

“Is that ‘ccccck’ with a c or a k?” Dean asks, taking another swig of the beer. C holds up one finger. “Okay. C. Anything after that C?”

C shrugs, embarrassed to only have a single letter left. 

“Cool if I just call you Cas? I’m gonna call you Cas.” 

He’s been named. C doesn’t know if it was his name before, but he’s happy to take it as his own. Cas is happy to take it as his own. He feels himself smile, the corners of his mouth pulling up awkwardly in a way that they haven’t before. 

“C-cas,” he repeats softly.

“I wanna go home, Cas.”

“Nn… N…Not… safe,” Cas says, shaking his head.

“I get that,” Dean sighs. “And look, I know that you saved my life. You practically dragged me out of hell. I am grateful for that, but you walked me into this place so I know you can get me out.” 

Cas doesn’t want to walk Dean back out of here. He can’t leave. He just got here. “You hhave t-to wa-ait. Theeyy’ll no-otice,” Cas manages. Honestly, no one would notice. The dead come and go whenever they’re hungry. Some might even try to tag along if they tried to leave right now because hunting in groups is always safer. 

“How long?” Dean asks quietly, the hope in his green eyes dying. Cas scrambles for a lie that will bring the light back to Dean’s face.

“Fffew da-ays. Theeyy’ll ffforget.” With any luck, Dean will forget too. “You’ll… be okay.” 

“Few days, huh?” Dean smirks. The lie worked. “Well, what am I supposed to do for a few days around here anyway?”

They share a smile and Cas’ world lights up. He’s been granted a few days at least and he plans on making the most of it. 


	4. Chapter 4

After drinking one beer, three water bottles, and eating his fruit, Dean follows Cas back out of the airplane. Cas hadn’t explained much about where they were going. He only said he had an idea in his weird breathy groaning. 

Dean is glad he doesn’t have a mirror. He can still feel the blood that’s smeared onto his skin. He’s protected by the masking smell and that is the only reason he hasn’t rubbed it off with his sleeve. Having it smeared into his skin helps with being close to Cas. His own rotting skin is hidden under the overpowering stench that fills Dean’s nose every time he breathes. 

“Are you the only one like this?” Dean asks, his shoulder brushing Cas’ as he mimics the stagger of his friendly captor. Cas looks over at him and tilts his head to the side. After a moment he looks away to keep staggering forward. “I mean, I’ve never heard a corpse talk before. Apart from the groaning anyway.” 

Cas glances at Dean again. This time he raises his shoulders in a stiff shrug. 

Cas is interesting to Dean. He seems taller than the other corpses because he stands up straighter than their post-mortem slouches. The more he tries to talk to Dean, the more he improves. The words still sound as if he’s pushing them out of his mouth rather than speaking, but the words are coming together a little faster and with less of a tired stutter. His coloring is all muted, skin that might have been a good tan is now a deadly, pale, pasty white. His sunken eyes are a shockingly pale blue, like the morning sky before the sun has woken up. His hair is made to look extremely dark on top of that. It’s wild and sticks out in every direction. Dean tries to ignore that Cas’ lips are stained red from his diet. 

“What were you before?” Dean asks as they walk into a parking garage. “An unholy tax accountant?” Dean laughs at the idea of a zombie taxman but quiets again as Cas shakes his head. 

“This?” Cas groans. He touches his backwards blue tie and stops walking as he inspects his wardrobe. He looks up at Dean again, his eyes asking for something that Dean doesn’t understand. 

“Just a joke,” Dean reassures him. “Let’s go.” 

Cas leads Dean to the back of the garage. The longer they walk into the dark, the faster Dean’s heart beats. He remembers being told that they had a reason to be afraid of the dark now. Monsters lurk there. He’s protected by Cas and the blood on his face, but still his anxiety screams through him as he follows Cas blindly. 

Finally, Cas stops and Dean can’t help but smile. He’s been led to a 1967 Chevy Impala. It’s black with silver trim, all hidden under a fair amount of dust. Dean opens the driver side door and smiles as he runs his hand over the tan seat. Cas opens the other door and half falls into the passenger side of the bench seat. Dean follows his lead and slides behind the wheel, running his hand lovingly over the leather. 

“Hey, Baby,” Dean coos as he takes in the beauty of the car. “Do you have keys?” he asks, glancing over at Cas who is staring. He’s always staring. Dean can feel his eyes on him always. 

“L-lost,” Cas answers as he shakes his head. 

“Ever hotwire a car?” Dean smirks, reaching down and pulling the cords free. The car sparks to life and Dean grins over at his passenger before driving out of the garage. 

. . . 

“Ready?” Dean asks Cas as he picks up speed, mischief flashing in his bright green eyes. Cas follows his gaze and finds they’re driving straight for a curb. On the other side is a short drive through grass to the tarmac. 

“Nno,” Cas manages through clenched teeth. His fingers dig into the seat as Dean pops up onto the curb. He can’t remember ever being in a moving car. It’s the fastest he’s ever moved and it feels… exhilarating and alive. 

As soon as the tires hit the tarmac, Dean presses into the gas. The world is sliding by the windows too fast for Cas to see. When they reach the beginning of a large straight, Dean stops. He digs into his pocket and comes up with a cassette tape.

The volume cranked, Robert Plant’s voice filling the air, Dean floors it. Air rushes past their open windows and Dean belts out the lyrics too, his grin enough to make Cas feel his heart attempt to restart. Dean whips the wheel, the car flipping a 180 turn under his practiced hands. His laugh is easy and rides on the music.

Dean drives all over the smooth tarmac. They even pass Cas’ plane. Dean waves out the window to it and Cas copies him, lifting his arm, but unable to move his hand quickly enough for it to count as a wave. He drops it before Dean looks back at him, embarrassed to have tried something that belongs to the living. 

“Do you want to try?” Dean asks, looking over at Cas as he continues to drive. Cas nods. Dean makes it look easy and fun, his head thrown back with laughter as he sings and pushes the speed or turns the car on a dime. It can’t be that hard, can it?

Dean pulls over and gets out of his seat. Cas fumbles with the door again, but Dean opens it for him. He holds out his hand and takes Cas’ in his to pull him out. The warmth from Dean’s hand seeps into Cas’ cold skin. He closes his fist around the warmth, trying desperately to hold onto it. 

Cas sits behind the wheel and tries not to look over at Dean. This is already much more complicated than it looked when Dean had been driving. Luckily, he left it running so he doesn’t have to figure out how to start the car without the keys. There are two pedals. Cas places one foot on each, glad that there isn’t a third. 

“Going to take her out of park?” Dean prompts. Cas looks over at him finally and sees him relaxed in his seat, one arm hanging out the window. When Cas looks down, he notices the gear shift. It’s like a maze. He groans and places his hand on top of it. He drags it down to the R and presses down on one of the pedals.

The car goes blasting backwards and Cas presses the other pedal down, forcing them to an abrupt halt. Dean is no longer relaxed. Cas tries again, dragging the stick down to the first D. To go a normal speed, he guesses one has to use both pedals, as the right one goes too quickly and the other is a crashing stop. Cas tries it, screeching forward with jolting progress. 

“Fuck. Stop. Stop,” Dean instructs. “You’re using two feet. Take your left foot off.”

It occurs to Cas that he hasn’t known his left from his right for as long as he hasn’t known his own name. He can’t tell time or directions. Neither mattered after he died. His sense of direction was toward the food or away from the guns. Walking to and from the airport was all instinct. 

“The one closer to the door,” Dean says, pointing. Cas lifts that foot and plants it on the floor. As soon as he lifts that foot, the car shoots forward. “Brake!” Dean shouts. “Other pedal!” Cas moves his foot to the pedal his apparently left foot had just left. The car stops again. 

“S-so-orry,” Cas says. Dean laughs it off, shaking his head. 

“Don’t be. Alright. Use only that foot. Can you not press the pedal all the way down or… uh..?” Dean clears his throat awkwardly. 

Cas tries. His fine motor skills have been neglected for far too long. He eases his foot off of the brake and gently pushes into the gas pedal. The car moves slowly. He presses down more and feels that awkward smile pulling at his lips again as he starts to actually drive. 

“There you go!” Dean praises him.

Cas feels alive now, sitting in this car with Dean while they drive and Dean sings and laughs. Trying to appear at ease and moderately good looking, Cas lets one hand fall from the wheel as he looks over at Dean. 

“Two hands on the wheel, buddy,” Dean chuckles, taking Cas’ hand to place it on the wheel. There is no better feeling. 

. . .

Cas starts to drive back toward the garage. Dean pops his tape out of the tape deck and slips it back into his pocket before looking out the window. Even though the few zombies he can see are off in the distance, he still feels nervous and rolls up his window. 

With a jolt and a loud scraping noise, Cas crashes over the curb. The car comes to a jarring stop, whipping Dean’s head forward. 

“Jesus, Cas!” Cas had not only run over the curb at too slow a speed, he had also crashed the front of the car into an abandoned car. “Come on.” Dean gets out, hurrying over to the driver’s side. This time, he helps Cas scoot over instead of getting out, his nerves still on high alert as they reenter reality where corpses eat people and those corpses probably heard that crash. 

Dean gets them out of the crash with a little maneuvering and drives them back into the far corner of the garage where they’d found this beautiful car. 

“Ssorrrry,” Cas groans. 

“It’s fine,” Dean says, waving him off. “Come on.” 

They get out of the car and Dean walks next to him, trying to stay as close to him as possible as his fear remains. Cas doesn’t seem to notice or mind so Dean doesn’t bother trying to explain himself or apologize as they make their trek back to the safety of the airplane. 

“I haven’t driven in a long time,” Dean says as Cas closes the door behind him. “I used to love it. I would drive all over the country. It was usually Sam and I…” 

Sam. Dean still doesn’t know if he made it back. The last he saw of his little brother, all 6 feet and four inches of him was crouched under a counter. His face had been covered in the blood of a corpse that Dean had shot before it had had the chance to sink its teeth into him. That was probably the only thing saving him, just as it was what had saved Dean. Twice now. 

“Sa-am?” Cas repeats, following Dean into the plane. 

“My brother,” Dean supplies awkwardly as he lays his blanket out on the floor. There’s just enough space. He sits down and gestures for Cas to sit too. Watching Cas descend is like watching him try to collapse himself like a folding table, giving up halfway through, and falling to the floor. It’s anything but graceful. 

. . .

“Do you still have those stupid safety pamphlets?” Dean asks. Cas tilts his head in a silent question. Dean ignores that his heart skips a beat. He’s not cute. He’s dead. “I don’t- didn’t… do airplanes,” he admits as he finds a safety card in the back pocket of a seat. 

Cas stays silent, his eyes burning into Dean as he reaches down under the seat to dislodge the life vest. Dean holds it up in triumph before draping it over Cas’ shoulders. 

“Pull the tab or blow into the tube,” Dean summarizes from the card. “Can you even breathe?”

Cas nods. Dean shrugs and puts the red straw in between Cas’ forever chapped lips. His fingers catch on the pull string and linger. Cas makes an awkward gasping noise that sounds as if all of the air that’s available to him refuses to fill his lungs. He’s trying, though. Dean pulls the string and takes his hand away quickly. 

“I… did...it!” Cas exclaims in a groan. Dean laughs and nods. 

Nothing could make Cas look more comical than he looks right now. With the yellow puffed up around his face, he bears a stiff impression of a smile. His dark hair is wild, his pale blue eyes sparkling with excitement that no corpse has ever had a right to embody. Under the blast of yellow, his trench coat hangs limply, his hands still at his sides. 

“Happy?” Dean asks, his own smile sneaking across his lips again. Cas nods, his cheeks rubbing against the plastic vest. Dean nods in agreement, his guilt over his free-range happiness in this zombie airport melting away. 

. . .

“Please take your seat, we will be taking off soon,” Dean says, leading Cas to a first-class seat near the front of the plane. “Please stow all carry-on items under the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin.”

Cas looks around him and grabs a snowglobe, handing it to Dean who puts it under the seat in front of Cas. Dean reaches down and fastens the old seatbelt, clicking it into place and leaving it loose around Cas. 

Dean walks into the front of the plane and Cas leans over into the aisle to watch as Dean plays with the buttons and switches. He has a pair of the pilot’s headphones on as he pretends to start the plane. 

“Hold onto your butts,” Dean says into a handheld speaker, his voice crackling over the intercom. He continues to play, and all Cas can do is smile. “This 747 is climbing into the sky like a homesick angel,” Dean says into the speaker. 

Cas sits back in his seat, closing his eyes and trying to pretend with Dean. He doesn’t know if he’s ever actually flown. He doesn’t remember the way it feels to lift off of the ground, but he tries to anyway. When nothing happens, Cas opens his eyes and looks out the window. From his aisle seat all he can see is the sky. Is this what flying is like? 

Cas lets Dean’s voice wash over him as he pretends to be a homesick angel, headed straight for Heaven. 


	5. Chapter 5

“I have a question,” Dean says slowly. “My ex… Lisa… She died back there. Will she come back? As one of you?” Cas presses his lips together and shakes his head quickly. Dean sighs with relief. “I don’t think I could take it if she did,” he admits. “It sounds awful, but I’m actually relieved that it’s finally over.”

Dean gets quiet as he thinks about her. Their breakup had been many things: spiteful, angry, sad, and broken. Two people at their limit after losing their son who couldn’t find a way to heal together. They hadn’t been a great couple to start with. Sure, the sex was great, but they fought all the time. The only thing keeping them together was their son, Ben. They would hide their fights from him, arguing when he was out with friends or with his uncle. There were good times, too. Times when Ben would draw a picture of the three of them and it would keep Dean and Lisa on the same side for a week. They weren’t meant to be, but they wanted to try for Ben. 

The break up happened a year ago. There had been a lot of words, none of which Dean remembers anymore. He had forced them out with alcohol and refused to fish them out of the abyss. She had taken her things away, holding them all in her arms as she walked away. 

“It’s not like I don’t miss her. I do. It just got to a point, you know? She couldn’t absorb any more. This world was eating her alive. Maybe our relationship was too. She used to be a free and happy thing, and then… She wanted it to be over.” He takes in a shaky breath. 

Cas gets up with as much grace as when he sat down and walks over to the record player. He glances at Dean, a mournful look in his eyes before he places the needle onto a record. Bob Dylan’s voice promises shelter from the storm as Cas walks back to Dean. He sits down again and touches his own hand to his chest. Dean watches with curiosity as he slowly moves that hand toward Dean. His palm is cold on Dean’s skin as he presses the spot just over Dean’s quickly beating heart. 

“You are so weird,” Dean breathes, though all he wants to say is  _ thank you. _

Cas doesn’t seem dead to Dean. Sick maybe, with his stiff movements and hoarse voice, but he’s kind and he can watch the thoughts happening in his blue eyes. There’s a personality locked away inside and Dean wants to meet him. Dean clears his throat when he realizes that they are sitting in silence staring at each other. 

Cas continues to stare as Dean gets up, going to the stacks of records and flipping through them to find a new record. “What’s with all the vinyl?” Dean asks just to make lighter conversation. “Not that I’m complaining.” 

“Better… sound,” Cas says. Dean looks over his shoulder at him. 

“Purist, huh? Me too.”

“Mmore al-ive,” Cas spins his finger in a circle like a record player before laying his hand over his chest where Dean is sure a heart lies still. 

“I’m with you on that one. I miss when the world moved more,” Dean admits quietly as he goes back to the records. “These are really cool records. How did you get all these?”

“I.. co-llect thingss.” 

Dean smirks. They are literally surrounded by piles of the things that Cas collects. If the world ever came back to life, this airplane could be turned into a museum of what the world was like. It’s a snapshot of what was once popular and loved.

“I can see that. You, my friend, are a hoarder.” Dean looks over his shoulder again to see Cas tilt his head. He can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. It could be a human movement, made to communicate, or his neck deteriorating, letting his head fall to the side. He ignores it especially since it might be a little cute. 

“How about some Alphaville?” Dean holds up a record to show Cas. He’s met with a small nod so he carefully takes the long since finished Bob Dylan disc from the turntable. He carefully places the record down and sets the needle. The crackle sounds and Dean turns around, walking to Cas and offering him his hand. 

This time when Cas tilts his head, it’s definitely a question. “I’m not dancing alone,” Dean explains. Cas clambers to his feet and stands awkwardly. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to dance.”

“Ffor-got,” Cas admits. Dean laughs, shaking his head as he runs his hands over his face. Well, he has to fill up these few days somehow. Might as well teach Cas to dance. 

. . .

“Follow the beat of the music,” Dean says, bouncing his head in time. Cas watches as the music flows through Dean automatically. He doesn’t feel it. Every time he listens to music, he hears the words and listens to the lovely melodies, but it doesn’t move through him like it does with Dean. He’s used to sitting still as the music moves around him. Maybe music is too alive for him. 

“We’re starting small. Just bob your head.” Cas bobs his head, but even he can hear how badly he’s off. He stops and starts again, always missing the actual tempo and ending up just jerking his head awkwardly. 

“Okay, nevermind,” Dean laughs. Cas sighs, his shoulders slumping. The idea of dancing with Dean makes him feel strange and warm. “Let’s try this,” Dean says, reaching for Cas’ hands. 

His hands are soft and warm. Holding his hands now is infinitely different than when he had dragged Dean to the airport, his fist cold and tight. Cas grips Dean’s hands as if he’s a lifeline and lets Dean move his arms. Somehow, it’s working. The music that flows through Dean makes its way to Cas through their linked hands and up his arms. 

“There you go!” Dean laughs as Cas begins to loosen up. His neglected range of movement expands, his joints moving and relaxing under Dean’s guidance. 

The song changes and Dean throws his head back with laughter. Cas doesn’t get the joke. Their hands are no longer linked. Cas stands still again as he watches. 

“This song is for you,” Dean grins crookedly. “Forever young.” 

Cas doesn’t know how old he is or how old he appears. It’s been awhile since he’s been into any of the airport bathrooms. He’s not sure he would recognize himself in a mirror. He certainly couldn’t describe himself with any accuracy. His idea of self is as limited as a preschooler. He knows the clothes he wears and has a vague memory of his hair being dark. As for his age, Cas is more lost there than what he looks like. For all he knows, the world was destroyed yesterday. Time has rolled on without his notice. He doesn’t recall his age at his time of death. He doesn’t remember dying and he certainly doesn’t remember living. 

“This is a slow dance. The kind that they play at middle school dances,” Dean says, facing Cas. “Come here.” He pulls Cas close and places his hands on Cas’ hips. “Your hands go on my shoulders,” Dean instructs. 

Cas is sure that if his heart still worked, it would be leaping inside of his chest as he embraces Dean. They sway together, their feet shuffling slowly. Dean has a smirk painted to his lips. 

“Forever young! I want to be forever young,” Dean sings. It’s remarkably terrible, but Cas is still delighted at the sound. Dean lets his hands fall away as he starts walking over to the record player again. 

“No,” Cas protests, catching Dean’s wrist. “This… sssong is… for me,” Cas repeats Dean’s words. He gently pulls Dean back to him, craving more of the swaying and even the singing. Dean smiles as they resume their ‘middle school dance’ positions. They start their slow shuffle again, this time closer, their chests pressed together. Dean’s arms circle Cas’ waist as Cas’ arms drape over Dean’s shoulders. Cas can almost feel his heart beating, but he knows that it’s Dean’s heart that pounds against his chest, not his own. 

Dean lifts Cas’ arm and starts to spin him in a twirl. At first, it works. Cas starts to rotate, his hand above his head, but his feet can’t keep up. They trip and Cas falls to the floor. 

“Shit!” Dean crouches next to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean.. Fuck. Are you okay?”

Cas nods. “Dead. Rem-ember?” 

“Right.” Dean stands up and helps Cas back to his feet. The moment is gone, whisked away. Dean had forgotten that his dancing partner was dead. He had been having a good time. He puts the record away and Cas sighs inwardly. Why did he have to remind Dean that he isn’t living?  
  


. . .

“Dead. Rem-ember?” Dean’s heart slams to a stop in his chest. 

“Right.”

Had he been having fun? Sure, he is stuck here for a few days, but did that mean he could have fun? Being here, dancing with Cas, is the happiest Dean can remember being for years. He’s away from his abusive father and the loss of his mother. He’s disconnected from Lisa’s death, and remains somewhat blissfully unaware of his Schrodinger brother. Sam is safe until Dean goes back to the city. Dean is happy until he goes back to the city. Even if his dancing partner is a corpse. 

While they had danced, Dean could have sworn he felt just that much more alive. It was probably his own hammering heart that he’d felt between their chests, but Cas is something else. Cas can talk… sort of. He’s saved Dean… twice. He loves music, long walks through the city, and dancing with Dean.   
  


. . .

Dean is stretched across three seats, his back against the wall of the plane and his feet dangling into the aisle. On the ground beside him is a stack of books he must have taken from Cas’ library. 

“Read this one?” Dean asks, holding up another book. For the past three books that Dean has asked that to, all Cas had done was shake his head. “How do you have all of these books and you never read them?”

“Can’t… read,” Cas admits, his shoulders slumping. He doesn’t remember ever being able to read, but he assumes he must have before the new hunger took over. He loves books, he just can’t get to the stories anymore. It feels like residue left over from the time before. His ability to read faded like his name. There’s the strange feeling that he used to enjoy it, but it’s gone now. 

Dean lowers the book and runs his hands over the title. “Slaughterhouse-Five?” he asks. “Vonnegut has always been one of my favorites.”

Cas sits down across the aisle from Dean. Slaughterhouse sounds violent. It sounds like what the city has turned into for the dead that roam this airport. “Read?”

“You want me to read to you?” Dean gives a half laugh and shrugs as he opens the book. “ _ All of this happened, more or less. _ ”

Dean’s voice is beautiful. Cas could listen to it all day. And he does. Dean reading is as full of life as when they had danced together. Cas doesn’t feel as dead as he used to with Dean here. 

“ _ So it goes,” _ Dean reads. 

“S-so… it… goes,” Cas repeats. Every time someone dies, Billy Pilgrim moves on from the sorrowful moment with those three words.

Dean looks up from the book, grinning. “So it goes,” he whispers. 

Throughout the day, Cas gets up to grab Dean his water bottles and cans of food. Each time, Dean takes a break from reading, tenting the book over his knee as he eats. 

Cas tries not to stare, but he desperately wants to communicate. He wants to be able to tell Dean how much this means to him. He’s finally able to touch a story that’s been tucked away so close, but remained hidden. 

“I lllike…” He likes what he can’t admit. He likes being this close to Dean, listening to his voice, watching him fall into the story. He likes seeing Dean smile and laugh. When Dean doesn’t interrupt to ask for the ending of Cas’ sentence, he finishes, “the ssstory.” 

“Oh man, I love this story. I mean, Vonnegut is weird, but he knows what he’s about, ya know?” 

A few hours later, Dean announces the ending of their reading session with, “ _ Poo-tee-weet.,” _ as he shuts the book dramatically. 

Cas is sitting in the seat in front of Dean now. He leans over to look out the window at the zombies that roam around on the tarmac. “Sso it… goes,” Cas says, pointing. 

Dean gets up, walking into Cas’ aisle to look out the same window. He laughs when he sees Cas pointing to the dead outside. 

“So it goes,” Dean answers, pointing to another one. Cas feels his mouth attempting to smile again.   
  


. . .

Curled up on the floor of the plane, Dean pulls the blanket around himself and looks over at Cas. He’s also lying down, but he’s flat on his back with his nose pointed straight at the ceiling. His bright blue eyes are open, staring straight up. Dean takes him in, guiltily tracing each line and curve. Cas’ chest is still and Dean panics for a moment before reminding himself that Cas doesn’t need to breathe. 

“Goodnight,” Dean mutters, forcing his eyes shut. He hears Cas turn his head and tries to look naturally asleep. 

“G-good...night, Deeean.” 

Sleep comes easier than he thinks, and soon he’s dreaming. 

. . .

“Where’s your mom?” John asks as Dean catches his breath in the motel room. Dean straightens as he always does when addressed by his father. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean says. His eyes flicker to Sam who knows. After all, it was Sam she sacrificed herself for. “She was attacked.” He can feel the tears burning in his nose but refuses to cry. 

“What?” John’s ice exterior cracks. 

“I’m sorry, Dad. I couldn’t save her.”

“Is she one of them?” John demands, anger raging like a fire in his eyes. 

“No, sir,” Dean says, his voice cracking as he remembers shooting her. As his flashback pulls the trigger, John’s hand comes down on Dean. 

“It’s not his fault!” Sam yells.

“Stay out of this, Sammy,” Dean grunts as he takes another hit. “Just go.” 

“You can’t do this!” Sam yells, trying to pull John off of Dean as he continues to punch. 

“JUST GO!” Dean yells as he curls up on the floor. 

“Listen to your brother,” John advises. He pulls his foot back and slams it into Dean’s jaw. “This is your fault. The love of my life,  _ your mother _ , is dead because of  _ you _ ,” John yells as pain bursts behind his eyes.   
  


. . .

Dean whimpers in his sleep. It isn’t the cute sound of someone on the verge of talking in their sleep. It sounds like he’s in pain. Cas sits up and looks over at Dean. He’s curled into a tight ball under his blanket, his face screwed up. His cheeks shine and Cas realizes he’s crying. 

“D-Deeean.” Cas hesitates, his hand close to Dean’s shoulder. He doesn’t want Dean to mistrust him again. If he wakes up in the middle of the night, the plane dark, with Cas hovering over him, will he know that all Cas was trying to do was wake him from a nightmare? 

“No!” Dean cries out. Cas grabs his shoulder and shakes him awake. Slight mistake. Dean doesn’t wake up gently. He wakes up swinging. Cas hears his wrist break when Dean hits his arm. “Cas? What’re you doing?”

“K-eeping you… ssafe,” Cas says, fitting his wrist bones back together. It remains at an odd angle, but it’s still usable. 

“Just a nightmare,” Dean mutters, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“Bro-ken,” Cas says, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers stiffly. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean runs his hands through his hair and over his face, leaving them as he inhales deeply. His tensed shoulders hold the weight of the world. 

“What...dreeeamm?” Cas asks, sitting down at the edge of Dean’s blanket. 

“I…” Dean drops his hands and shakes his head. “A lot happened, ya know?” 

Cas clicks his newly broken wrist. He’s not sure he wants to hear the sorrow in Dean’s voice as he talks about the start of the new world. 

“Even before the whole zombie outbreak thing. Sorry. I don’t really know.” 

As Cas watches Dean, he remembers the slap from Lisa’s memories. He wonders if that’s the pain that Dean feels when he closes his eyes. Anger bubbles up inside of him. All he wants to do is protect Dean.

“Can I ask you a question?” Dean asks, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on his knee. Cas nods. “I just need to know… Do you know who killed Lisa?” 

Cas’ stomach drops. His dry mouth seems to go drier. If his heart could still beat, it would screech to a halt. He nods hesitantly. Dean presses his lips together and exhales through his nose. It sounds like all of the air in the world was held in his lungs. 

“Do you have to eat people?” Dean asks, his head tilting to the side, his green eyes searching. 

“Yeahh,” Cas says. He’s not actually sure. He just knows that that’s all his diet actually consists of. 

“Or you’ll die?” 

“Yeah,” Cas says again. 

“You didn’t eat me,” Dean points out gently. “You saved me… and kidnapped me. But you  _ saved _ me… You’re one of the good ones, Cas.” 

Guilt ripples through Cas. His hand closes around Lisa’s necklace in his pocket. Dean trusts him. He thinks that Cas is good. Cas isn’t good. “It… was me,” Cas chokes, surprised at how smoothly his words come out. 

“What?” 

Cas takes the necklace out of his pocket and presses it into Dean’s hand. He watches as Dean lifts his head from his knees and looks into his hand like all of his nightmares have come true. 

“I guess I already knew that,” Dean whispers, his fingers curling around the necklace. “Can I have a minute?” His voice is rough. Cas stands and shuffles past him. 

He closes the door behind himself and starts down the stairs. He doesn’t think about where he’s going, but he ends up inside the airport that he’s been avoiding. Cas makes his way to his old spot, the bank of seats in front of the wide window. 

“Mmmm,” M groans as she stumbles over. If Cas were alive, we would have jumped. His reason for avoiding the airport was upon him. She can probably be able to tell that something is up. “Wherrrrrrre?” 

“Hhomme.” Cas shrugs, trying to appear indifferent. M makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a gurgle before she fixes Cas with what would probably be an accusatory glare if she had any life in her eyes. 

Cas tries to think of how long it’s been since he brought Dean here. Time is a strange blur that has never mattered less. Clocks in the airport don’t work anymore. Even if they did, Cas can’t read them. All he knows for sure is that Dean has slept a total of five times. 

“Hhun-gry,” M groans. She’s never been particularly good at taking leftovers. Then again, Cas doesn’t usually savor his just as much as he’s been savoring Lisa’s. He can feel the final chunk of frontal lobe in his pocket. 

Cas shakes his head before he stands again. He can’t talk to her when he’s hiding Dean in his airplane. He should also finish the delicious meat that’s left in his pocket while he’s giving Dean his space. It has been a few days since he’s eaten after all. 

“Ccc?” M uses his old name. She doesn’t know that he has a new one, and he’s not going to tell her. Cas waves her off as he starts his journey to the parking garage. 

The airport looks different somehow. It feels like he hasn’t been here for decades. The vacant look on the other faces around him make him feel like he doesn’t belong here anymore. He isn’t dead. He isn’t living. Maybe he only belongs in his airplane, closed off from the world as he protects Dean. 

Cas makes his way to the car Dean had named Baby and gets in, sitting in the passenger seat this time. Guilt tears through him as he dips his hand into his pocket and takes out the last piece of Lisa’s brain. He closes his eyes and sinks his teeth into the cold meat.   
  


. . .

Lisa stands at attention, ready to leave on the mission. Her entire body tenses as Dean walks over with his brother. Part of her still wants to find comfort in his arms and kisses, finding oblivion with him in the night, but another part remembers the end. 

“Did you ever love me?” Lisa asks, hot tears streaming down her face. Dean doesn’t answer as he opens her drawer of clothes and starts carefully putting them into a bag for her. “Dean!”

“I loved him more than anything,” Dean says quietly. “I wanted to love you.” 

_ I wanted to love you _ repeats, her heart burning. 

“Do you think we’re going to find a cure?” Dean asks as they walk out of the city and begin their supplies run. 

“Nobody believes in a cure anymore, Dean,” Lisa says coldly. There’s no sugar-coating the obvious. The dead walk the earth, killing anything that moves. Everyone dies, and those who are alive are on their way out. His love was a lie. 

“Are you going to help us out or what?” Lisa asks as Garth picks up a snow globe to inspect it. Garth stutters, ever the idiot. 

Dean glares at Lisa. “Lighten up, Lees.” She hates when he calls her that now. 

Lisa wants nothing more than to fail this mission. She has nothing left. Her life is dedicated to raiding expired medications from the ghosts of the past, finding all of the necessities that John Winchester asks for from buildings that belong in the past. She belongs in the past. 

“Did you hear that?” Sam asks, cutting off Lisa’s train of suicidal thoughts. 

“Positions,” Dean orders, raising his gun, ever the soldier. 

“There’s nothing there. You just want to get out of doing your job.” Lisa shakes her head and turns around to face Dean again. 

“Lisa!” Dean yells. Lisa turns, raising the butt of her gun to slam it into the face of the closest corpse. 

Cas gags. He doesn’t want to see this. 

Lisa looks down from her vantage point on a counter and finds the thing she thought she’d gotten already, but apparently that gun to the face wasn’t enough. She wants to play with the dumb thing. It looks distracted so she shoots it in the shoulder. 

With its attention, she grins and aims. “Bye, motherfuck-” Hands grab her ankles and the world slides out from under her. She opens her mouth and screams, but she can’t hear herself over the pain in her leg. 

Her head slams into the ground and fireworks burst before her eyes.   
  


. . .

Cas opens the door of the car and imitates what he imagines vomiting is like for the living as he spits the rest of the brain matter onto the ground. He has to get back to Dean. 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean replays the end of their conversation in his head as his hands ball into fists and he ignores how badly he’s starting to shake. 

_ “Can I ask you a question?” Dean asked, curling up so he could hug himself. Cas’ head bobbed in a jerky motion, a silent yes. “I just need to know… Do you know who killed Lisa?”  _

_ Cas nodded again after a moment, his blue eyes wide yet unreadable. Dean let go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.  _

_ “Do you have to eat people?”  _

_ “Yeahh,” Cas answered in a strange groan. _

_ “Or you’ll die?”  _ Dean doesn’t know why the concept of Cas dying hurts. Technically, he’s already dead. 

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “You didn’t eat me. You saved me… and kidnapped me. But you saved me…” Dean looked at his only friend in the world and felt his stomach flip. “ You’re one of the good ones, Cas.”  _

_ “It… was me,” Cas croaked. The floor dropped out from under Dean. _

_ “What?”  _

_ Cas took something out of his pocket and pressed it into Dean’s hand. Dean lifted his head from his knees and looked A necklace Lisa had worn almost every single day ssat limply in the palm of his hand. Lisa’s screams echoed in Dean’s head. It was her blood that had been all over Cas’ mouth when he had first whispered Dean’s name.  _

_ “I guess I already knew that,” Dean managed to say, his fingers curling around the necklace. The metal bit into his palm. “Can I have a minute?”  _

The door had closed with Cas on the other side of it. Dean drops the necklace onto the floor. He had failed her. In their relationship and out on the mission. She died on his watch and he couldn’t forgive himself that, but he was to blame. Not Cas. Lisa, Garth, and the newest recruits had all died on that mission. Dean hadn’t only failed Lisa. He’d failed everyone, including his father. Sam was the only survivor, hiding under a fucking counter. 

Dean stands up and runs his hands over his face, scrubbing his nightmare and the necklace away. He presses against his closed eyes until stars burst in the darkness.

“A few days,” Dean sighs. “It’s been five.” He has to go back. He has to leave his vacation among the dead and rejoin the living. 

Dean walks through the main cabin to find his jacket and shoes. He’s gotten too comfortable living the high life with Cas. He wants to be angry with him. What did he do though, really? He ate someone with no meaning. It wasn’t like he had targeted her after becoming close to Dean. It wasn’t some thought out betrayal. He was just having dinner. 

Dean pulls on his boots, tying the laces slowly, daring Cas to come back in time to find him preparing to leave. Part of him wants to be stopped. When both shoes are tied, Dean sighs and shrugs on his coat. Looking out the window, he sees a clear path and no Cas. 

“It’ll be better this way,” Dean whispers to himself. “You’ll forget,” he repeats Cas’ reason for Dean staying for a few days. “Goodbye, Cas.”

The cold air hits Dean and he pauses as he continues to scan for movement in the dark. The night is still. Dean takes the stairs quickly but slows to a limping shuffle when he hits the tarmac, hearing Cas’ warning from his first escape attempt,  _ “Don’t run.”  _

The peace doesn’t last long. In between Dean and the off-road path to the parking garage in the distance is a sizeable hoard. He freezes in the middle of the tarmac. The only other way to the parking garage is through the airport. 

Dean makes his way to an Employees Only door and fulfills a lifetime wish: he walks inside. He’s under the airport. The gates for loading and unloading passengers is all upstairs. Hopefully, the dead are too. Dean walks quickly, the lights flickering as he goes. He didn’t know the airport had any electricity left, but in here, the generator is trying to keep it alive. Fear creeps up from Dean’s twisting stomach as he makes his way through the tunnels. He breaks into a run, hoping he doesn’t run into a wall every time the lights die for a moment. 

The lights flicker and Dean sees a door. He slows and catches his breath as he presses himself into the wall beside the door. He can’t hear anything on the other side of the door, but he’s sure there’s probably something. There’s always something. 

He pushes down on the handle and peeks out. Signs tell him that he’s near baggage claim. He ignores the conveyor belt and heads for the stairs that will lead him out of here. A second door at the top of the stairs gives him the same problem as the previous door. He can’t hear the danger if there is any. 

“Okay,” Dean exhales, steeling himself before stepping into baggage claim.   
  


. . .

Cas makes it back to the airplane, ready to throw the door open and apologize to Dean. He knows he asked for space, but he has to tell him how sorry he is. He has to tell Dean how much he means to him. Cas wrenches the door open, stumbling inside. 

“Deeean,” Cas wheezes. He doesn’t see Dean. He doesn’t smell him either. Well, that’s not true. His sweet smell is all over the airplane now, but it doesn’t smell like Dean is still inside. “Deeann?” 

Panic rips through Cas as he turns around, shutting the door behind him and he looks out over the tarmac. Dean is nowhere to be seen.   
  


. . .

This would be a moment for a freeze frame and a record scratch. Dean has no idea how he got into this situation, but he’s alone in baggage claim wielding a weed-whacker. He’s surrounded by a horde of the undead that are drooling black ooze and groaning in a threatening way. 

He made it this far. He’s not giving up now. Dean pulls the cord and revs up the completely out of place weapon in his hands. Spinning in a circle, he keeps them all at bay. The fear that anyone else should probably feel in this position isn’t present. His training in place, he forces the weed-whacking end into one of the zombie’s throats, effectively forcing them away and almost severing their head. 

“Get away from me!” Dean yells as he slams his weapon into the skull of one of the things. The head splits open, blood and brains flying as the weed-whacker digs in. With a tug, Dean dislodges his weapon and returns to spinning to keep the circle around him wide enough to move. 

“Dean!” His voice rises over the snarling and teeth-gnashing. Dean can’t see him, but he feels relieved to know that he’s here. “No!” 

Dean spins quickly just in time to see Cas take out an undead asshole. There’s no time for thanks or apologies as they take out the rest of the horde together. It had seemed much larger when he was alone and surrounded. 

“What!” A zombie woman yells. Her dark hair is matted. Her leather jacket has smears of things Dean doesn’t want to think about. If she could properly emote, she would probably look pissed right now. 

“Deeeean,” Cas says, stepping closer. Dean wants to reach out and take his hand but resists, clenching his hands in his pockets when he realizes that his weapon is on the ground, stuck in the last skull he obliterated. 

“L-liv-ing?” she manages in a broken groan. Cas nods slowly, placing himself between her and Dean. “Eeeat!” she insists loudly. Dean flinches. 

“N-no,” Cas says. His speech is starting to sound less like the undead groan and more like someone with asthma attempting to speak mid-attack. 

“Eat!” she screams. 

Over Cas’ shoulder, Dean can see a new figure enter through the baggage claim doors. It’s a skeleton and it’s terrifying. The only time Dean had seen them before was when he and his father had been out on a scavenge and a small group of them took out an entire group of survivors nearby. They were different than the zombies. They were fast and ate anything with a heartbeat. 

The thing in the doorway screeches and Cas’ arm goes out to further shield Dean. “W-we go,” Cas says, taking an awkward step backward. Dean takes a step back at the same time, the urge to run spreading through his limbs. 

Cas turns and there’s a look of fear in his eyes that Dean hasn’t seen. He’s watched Cas’ eyes convey many thoughts, but fear was never one of them. Dean turns and breaks into a sprint. He has no idea where he’s going, but he can hear Cas behind him. 

The head-splitting shrieks behind them keep Dean running faster. He can’t stop to think about the fact that he thought he would never see Cas again or the joy that he was wrong and Cas is right behind him. There’s barely time to breathe as they run. There’s a door ahead of them and it’s all Dean can focus on, his heart beating erratically. 

He almost barrels straight into the door but manages to open it quickly. When Dean turns, he sees Cas, half-stumbling half-running with his arms limp at his sides. Behind him, the single skeleton has become three. Dean pales and cries out for Cas, reaching for him and holding the door. Cas makes it and they slam the door together, the skeletons trapped on the other side of the door. 

Dean sags against the door for a moment, panting until he opens his eyes and sees three new skeletons. Cas is back in his protective stance and Dean can’t explain the warmth that spreads through him seeing Cas as his guardian angel, keeping him safe as he promised over and over again. 

An airport luggage car bulldozes the three of them before they have a chance to lunge. It comes to a screeching halt and sitting in the driver’s seat is the hangry zombie from baggage claim. Cas lowers his arm slowly. Dean can’t tell if it’s hesitation or just his decay that’s making him slow, but he wants it to be the former. 

“C-co-mm with meeee,” she says in a hoarse kind of whisper. Dean is surprised when Cas takes a step forward. 

“What?” Dean hisses in between heavy breaths. Cas stops and looks back at Dean. That’s when Dean realizes that it’s pouring rain. His dark hair that usually stick up in every possible direction is plastered to his face. “No!” Dean says when he sees the question in Cas’ pale blue eyes. 

“W-want to hhelllp,” the undead biker chick says in a hoarse whisper. 

“Who the hell asked you?” Dean snaps, looking past Cas up at the nameless zombie. Her lips move into what might have once been a smirk. 

“L-like hhhimmm,” she says with a jerk of her head toward Dean. She holds her arm out at an odd angle, offering a hand up onto the car. Dean looks at Cas, but sees that he’s alone in not wanting to trust this chick. 

“It’ss o-kay,” Cas says gently. “Keep.. you s-safe.” 

He knows just what to say. Dean feels his shoulders relax at the words and heaves a sigh before climbing up onto the luggage car. He immediately turns in his seat and holds his hands out to Cas.

Cas’ hands are cold as they grip tight. Dean pulls him up, trying to ignore his heart rate picking up at the contact. As soon as Cas is sitting, they let go of each other and Dean directs their driver to take them to the parking garage.   
  


. . . 

The drive to the garage is a short one, but with the rain coming down in sheets, they are soaked through by the time they make it to shelter. Dean is shaking just enough that Cas wonders what it must feel like to be cold. 

The vehicle stops moving when it crashes into a line of cars. As soon as they’ve stopped moving, Cas gets off of the luggage car with the intention of offering his hands to Dean to help him down. However, Dean is already walking toward the car they’ve been driving in. 

“I’m so happy to see you right now!” he says to the car. M grabs Cas’ arm and yanks him back. 

“Y-youu… o-kayy?” she asks. 

Cas tries to think of an adequate answer. He has no idea. He’s running away from home to be with a human. A human he thinks he might be in love with if the dead can love. Bonies tried to kill them. There’s an adventure ahead and a blurry past behind. Cas tilts his head to the side, unable to answer. 

“Uh, Cas?” Dean’s voice shakes. 

Cas turns and sees a group of non-violent dead standing between Dean and the car. He walks away from M and stands next to Dean. Their shoulders brush and Cas scans the crowd, looking to be sure that none of them are hostile. He feels Dean’s fingers against his and he looks down. Their fingers are lacing together between them and electricity seems to race from his fingertips to his heart. 

Cas looks up into Dean’s face and searches his green eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for but he doesn’t find the hate he was sure would be there after he had told Dean the truth about Lisa’s death. His eyes are filled with trust that definitely wasn’t there a week ago upon the initial kidnapping. Cas squeezes Dean’s hand and feels a strange fuzzy feeling when Dean squeezes his hand back. 

Cas looks back out at the crowd and sees them all staring at their linked hands. Their gazes are blank, empty of all feeling, but still they stare. Cas takes a step forward with Dean and the crowd parts to let them through, still mesmerized by their joined hands. 

“You… drive,” Cas says, glancing over at Dean as they reach the car.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Dean flashes a bright smile, taking his hand from Cas’ grasp. It feels lonely without Dean’s hand in his. He curls his stiff fingers into his palm as he walks around the car to the passenger side. 

The remnants of Lisa’s brain that he had spit out earlier are still on the ground next to the door. Dean’s already in the car, sparking the car to life as Cas steps into the brain matter. He imagines the remaining memories squishing under his shoes and fading to black as he gets into the car. 

The engine starts and Dean lets out a quiet cheer, grinning as he puts his hands on the wheel. He drives slowly, careful not to run over any of their audience as they make their exit. Neither of them speak as Dean makes his way to the main road. Cas tries not to think about why he knows the route to the city well. 

“What the hell were those things?” Dean asks. He’s shivering but there’s nothing Cas can do to fix it. 

“Bonieees,” Cas answers. He’s never said it out loud. There hasn’t ever been a reason to. 

“You guys don’t like them either, huh?” Dean glances between Cas and the empty road. Cas shakes his head. 

There hasn’t been a lot of reason to hate or fear the bonies before now. Before, they were just extremists. They deteriorated differently. The things that made them look human vanished first and they fed more often. Bonies were avoided. If they were left alone, they didn’t really exist. Bringing Dean out of his city had gained the interest of the bonies. Hopefully, they would stay back and Dean could escape.  
  


. . .

Dean is freezing. It’s all he can think about. He would open the window to try to dry off but it’s still pouring rain. The car is quiet and the road is empty, stretching forever into the night. 

“Thanks,” Dean says, breaking the silence. Cas looks over at him. “For the whole saving me thing. Again.” 

“Keep...you safe,” Cas says quietly. Dean feels a smile tug at his lips and looks back at the road. “Sssorry.”

“What? Why?” Dean looks over at Cas again and sees the answer in his eyes. He’s trying to apologize for Lisa. He has nothing to apologize for. He had mourned her loss a year ago and Cas was just trying to eat. There was no malintent. There is nothing for Cas to be sorry for. “I’m not mad at you,” Dean finally says. He’s mad at the world for taking so much from him, but Lisa was no longer his to lose. 

They fall silent again and Dean digs in his pockets for his mixtape. When he finds it, he pushes it into the tape-deck and feels the tension in his shoulders relax as his comfort music fills the car. He taps his fingers against the wheel to the beat of the music and watches out of the corner of his eye as Cas tries to bob his head to the same beat and missing it fantastically. 

Dean tries to focus on driving, but all he can feel is the feeling of his wet clothing sticking to his skin as the chill seeps into him. He clenches his jaw to try to stop his teeth from chattering as he shivers. The cold isn’t the only thing settling into Dean’s bones. The realization that he’ll be returning to his father makes him want to slam on the brakes, listen to the tires squeal as he spins in a 180 degree turn and heads back to the airport. He still has to go. He still has to make sure Sam is safe. He has to face the music. 

The rain lets up enough that Dean can see the roofs of houses in the distance. He pulls off the next exit and drives into the suburbs. It’s creepy driving through empty neighborhoods. Some houses have caved in. Others have broken windows and kicked in doors. There’s signs of struggle, against the undead or the evacuations Dean doesn’t know, but apocalypse isn’t the right shade for this town. 

“What… a-are we...do-ing?” Cas asks.

“I’m freezing and I’m running on empty. I need my four hours.” It’s all the truth, but if he pushed, he knows he could make it back to the city tonight. The car has enough gas. Dean knows the way. The only roadblock is Dean’s heart. 

He pulls up outside of a house that looks almost untouched. The windows are intact and the door is upright and shut. That doesn’t mean the insides are good, but it’s his best shot at a shelter. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Come on,” Dean says, killing the engine and looking over at his quiet companion. Cas nods and pushes his door outward. The air is frigid outside. Dean immediately regrets opening his door. He wraps his wet jacket closer to his body. 

Dean makes his way up to the door and jiggles the handle. It’s locked. He sighs with frustration. He doesn’t have his lock pick and he doesn’t have the energy to try to break in. The last time he ate was this morning and it’s well past sunset now, midnight looming closer in the darkness. 

“Locked,” Dean mumbles, turning around to head back to the car for the night. Cas sizes up the door for a moment before slamming his shoulder against the door. The door breaks open and Cas stumbles in. Dean smiles and follows, closing the door behind him. “Thanks, Cas.”

The house looks to be mostly untouched if not bare. Pictures don’t hang on the walls and there’s no food in the kitchen, but there are magazines and books in the living room along with a couch and a few chairs. The dining room table is still made up with a nice table cloth and surrounded by eight chairs. The wallpaper is peeling, and there’s dust on every surface, but it still resembles a home. 

Dean starts to search for candles and matches, hoping that the family that had evacuated and taken their family photos hadn’t thought to also take matches. He finds a candle that’s shaped like a snowman. The wick is still new. The poor snowman had probably been nothing more than a decoration, never to be burned, and here he was straightening the wick and preparing to light it. 

“I used to have a silver lighter,” Dean says as he digs in a drawer, still searching for matches. “It ran out of juice and it wasn’t a priority, but man it would be useful right now. Hah!” Dean comes up with a small matchbox. He strikes it and carefully lights the poor snowman on fire. 

When he turns around, he finds Cas holding a polaroid camera. He’s inspecting it without pressing any buttons. “What’cha got there?” Dean asks, walking toward him and setting the blazing snowman on the table beside Cas. 

“Nng,” Cas mutters, handing Dean the camera.

Dean lifts it to his face, looking through the viewfinder at Cas. His hair is still wet, but it’s dry enough that it’s starting to stick out in places again. His bright blue eyes stare straight into the camera and Dean swallows hard. He presses down on the capture button and watches Cas’ expression change to surprise. 

“It’s alright.” Dean puts the picture down, waiting for it to develop. “It’s important to preserve memories, you know? Especially now that the world is on its way out. Everything you see, you may be seeing for the last time.” 

Dean hands Cas the camera and starts to turn away when Cas raises it to his own face. Dean raises an eyebrow but stays still until Cas clicks the button and the camera spits the polaroid out. 

“The pictures will come out in a few minutes,” Dean says as Cas looks at the blank square. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He still has to check the rest of the house. He looks back over his shoulder at Cas as he reaches the stairs. He’s actually pretty adorable as he puts the camera down so gently it doesn’t make a sound.   
  


. . .

Cas listens to Dean’s boots hit every step on the way to the second floor. The snowman that Dean had lit on fire is gone; up the stairs too. Cas leaves the two undeveloped pictures on the table beside the camera and starts to wander, his fingers trailing along the edges of the forgotten trinkets. He could fill this house with his collection back in his airplane. 

He finds himself in the front room. The curtains keep the outside world hidden. The seats in here are plush and look a lot more appealing than anything at the airport. He lets himself fall onto the couch and watches the dust that poofs up from the cushions. 

Cas sits still for a moment, listening to Dean walk slowly above him. He tilts his head up and looks up at the ceiling, his eyes following where he can hear Dean stepping. He probably should have taken his boots off first, but Cas can already tell that this house is empty. He would have said something, but Dean likes to follow his living-person routines, so Cas lets him. 

There’s a magazine on the table in front of Cas. He knows that the strange lines and curves all over it are letters and words, but he still can’t read. “So.. it goes,” Cas whispers, remembering the day Dean read to him and pretending that those are the words on the glossy page in front of him. He flips idly through the pages, only able to focus on the pictures. 

Cas listens as Dean slowly comes back down the stairs. He looks up when Dean stops. He’s still on the stairs and holding onto the snowman. The flickering candlelight makes his green eyes more intense. 

“So, uh.” Dean’s smile is lopsided. Cas loves it. He wants to memorize it and trace it. His hands curl into fists in his lap. “I’m exhausted. The bed actually isn’t too rotten so I’m gonna go to sleep.” He turns and looks up the staircase before looking back at Cas and biting his lower lip. “Cas?”

“Yeah?” 

“I was… I was thinking… You could sleep in there if you want… I mean I know you don’t sleep, but these houses creep me out and I got used to you being around and I’m rambling. Will you just come upstairs with me now?” Dean asks in a rush, his cheeks turning a fantastic shade of pink. Cas wonders if that’s a good or bad thing as he gets up from the couch and walks toward the stairs. 

He follows Dean to a large bedroom. There’s one bed. Cas looks for a second bed but there isn’t one. At least not in this room. Cas stands awkwardly at the end of the bed waiting for Dean to tell him what happens next. 

“What?” Dean asks. “Oh. Your coat is soaked. Can I..?” He hesitates before reaching forward. Cas would stiffen, but being a walking, talking corpse, he’s already pretty stiff. Dean is gentle as he takes the coat off of Cas’ shoulders and hangs it on a hanger in the empty closet. 

“Thanks,” Cas says, unsure of why Dean just took his coat away. He can’t remember ever not wearing it. He can’t remember wearing any other clothes than the ones he’s wearing now. He wonders if he ever did before. 

“I, uh… I need to change,” Dean says, pulling at his own jacket. Cas nods. He’s taken off his jacket before. He took off his jacket during his stay in the airplane. That wasn’t such a big deal. Except Dean’s jacket is off now and his boots are in the corner of the room. His shirt is wet and clings to his body in a way that makes Cas’ jaw tighten.

Dean pulls the fabric away from his body and lifts the shirt over his head. His muscles ripple under his skin. He looks delicious. Not only like the best bowl of macaroni and cheese, but something else. Cas could bite into his neck and chest, devouring him, but not to eat him. He has no idea what he’s feeling other than he wants Dean in every possible way. 

Dean lays out his shirt as Cas takes a step toward him. When Dean turns around they both freeze. It isn’t the closest they’ve been, but there’s still something new about this closeness. Cas rakes his eyes down Dean’s body, taking in every curve and line. There are blossoms of purple and yellow bruises here and there. Cas reaches out and touches them gently. Dean sucks in a breath but doesn’t pull away. 

Cas continues to trace his fingers over Dean’s skin, finding every raised scar and every freckle. He can feel the steady drumming of a heart locked inside and feels a small pang of envy. His fingers catch on the top of Dean’s jeans where Dean catches his hand. He takes a step away and Cas’ hand falls back to his side. 

Dean fumbles to unbutton his pants and slips out of them, hanging them up too. He’s almost completely naked, standing in front of Cas in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs. Dean wraps his arms around himself and turns toward the bed. 

“I’m freezing,” he says as he climbs into the large bed, pulling the blankets around him. “Are you coming?” he asks when Cas doesn’t move from where he’s standing at the end of the bed.   
  


. . .

“Where?” Cas asks. He’s been getting better at speaking over the past week. Dean looks from Cas to the empty half of the bed next to him. It’s not actually that different from when they were lying side by side in the airplane except that it’s completely different. 

“Here,” Dean says, pulling back the blankets as Cas walks over. His heart is pounding and he can’t make it calm down. He hopes that Cas can’t hear it with whatever zombie powers he may or may not have. Cas sits on the bed before lying flat. It’s a little more graceful than when he would lie down on the floor, but it’s still stiff and makes Dean smile. 

He props himself up on one elbow to look down into Cas’ face. Cas tilts his head on the pillow, his eyes drifting downward to Dean’s bare chest. 

“My eyes are up here, buddy,” Dean jokes. Cas doesn’t look away. Instead, he lifts his hand and gently traces the tattoo on Dean’s chest. There’s no way he can’t feel the slamming of Dean’s heart right now. Dean tries to keep breathing normally but it’s ragged or shallow. Either way, he’s feeling things he doesn’t want to be feeling. He looks down at Cas’ fingers against his skin. 

“It’s just a nonsense symbol,” Dean mutters. 

“Why?” Cas asks, his voice soft. 

“My uncle drew it for me a long time ago. It’s for protection. He made it for whenever…” Dean breaks off. He wants to be able to share it, but he hates to talk about it. “When my dad was too mean… too drunk… too…”

“He… hurt you,” Cas whispers. Dean nods, chancing a look up to Cas’ eyes. They connect and Dean feels safe. He lifts his free hand up to hold Cas’ against his heart, wanting to stay connected like this forever. “Keep you safe,” Cas promises. Dean nods, letting go of Cas’ hand and curling up against his side. 

Dean doesn’t know what to do with his arm. He doesn’t know if he should hug Cas, his arm around his middle, let his hand rest on Cas’ chest, on his thigh, around his waist… Dean starts at his chest. He can’t feel a heartbeat but he can feel the smooth plane of sculpted muscle. 

Cas runs his hand down Dean’s back sending shivers up his spine. He craves more of his touch. Dean moves his hand down and over, his fingers trailing over Cas’ ribs. He keeps his hand moving, wanting to take in all of him at once. He doesn’t bother stopping his hand from dipping lower. He caresses Cas’ thigh. 

Cas gently pulls Dean on top of him so that he’s straddling him. His hands go up Dean’s abs and as they travel upward, Dean leans down closer to Cas. He feels Cas’ fingers tangle into his hair as their foreheads press together.

Their eyes are too close, making the only thing Dean can see the pale blue color of Cas’ stunning eyes. He stares into the blur of color as his hands continue to explore, his thumb tracing the line of Cas’ jaw. Cas’s hands move down and Dean sucks in a breath as they trail down his back and only stop when they’ve reached his ass. He can feel himself getting hard against Cas as he rolls his hips gently. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes. 

“Dean,” Cas answers, his nose brushing Dean’s. 

It suddenly hits Dean like a slap to the face. He wants Cas. He wants more than that. He wants to be with him. He wants every day to be like the past week. What he wants more than anything right this moment is to kiss him and whisper against his lips that he’s in love with him. 

The sickness of the situation hits Dean like a second wave of nausea. He’s in love with a corpse. He’s straddling a zombie in his underwear and he’s hard from being felt up by him. Their lips are a breath away from brushing against each other. 

Dean sits up abruptly, putting as much distance as he can between their mouths which only plants his ass directly over Cas’ crotch. Cas’ hands move to Dean’s thighs which isn’t helping. Dean’s cheeks are burning. He scrambles off of Cas and quickly covers himself with the blanket. 

“Dean?” Cas asks behind him. 

Dean heaves a sigh and rakes his hands through his hair before rubbing his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles into his hands. He lays down facing away from Cas, curling up and turning his face into the pillow. 

The night becomes still. Any and all exhaustion that Dean had felt is now gone, replaced with embarrassment and a queasy feeling at his core. He shuts his eyes tight and tries to count sheep, but all he can think about is pointing out the airplane windows with Cas. He clenches his teeth and forces himself not to turn over. 

Dean isn’t sure how long he stays like that, balled up with tension. He just knows that when he finally sits up and looks over at Cas, his eyes are closed. He looks peaceful. 

“No,” Dean whispers, heart stuttering to a halt in his chest. There’s not going to be a pulse or the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’s dead, but now he actually looks dead. “No, no,” Dean breathes as he scrambles away from him. He falls onto the floor and starts to cry. 

He’s really lost everyone now. Dean chokes on a few sobs, trying to rake in breaths and failing. There’s a strange groan and Dean stops breathing, his tears sliding silently down his cheeks as he waits to hear it again. 

Cas groans again and Dean exhales with relief. He laughs humorlessly into his hands and wipes at his still falling tears. He’s just asleep. Except, the dead don’t sleep. 

What was he planning on doing anyway? Drive up to the city with Cas and live happily ever after with a corpse? Abandon his family and the city and live out his days with Cas as his zombie protector and lover? There is no happy ending. He had known from the beginning that he would have to run away from Cas. He just never thought that he wouldn’t want to. 

Dean moves quietly toward his clothes and pulls them on, trying to push the night before from his mind. It’s difficult enough without the added yearning. Thankfully, his clothes are dry. The snowman candle that had been burning near them is melted now, its sacrifice appreciated. 

The early morning light starts to shine through the window and Dean knows it’s time to go. He won’t be able to once Cas wakes up. His heart pulling in two directions, Dean returns to the Impala. 


	8. Chapter 8

The dead do not sleep. After Dean rolled over, Cas closed his eyes and slept.   
  


. . .

An orchard stretches out around Cas. The world is bright and overwhelmingly green. He starts to walk, the movements flowing and graceful. He looks up at the tops of the trees where blue meets green and listens to the birds chirp. 

When he looks back down, he sees three people sitting in the grass. He can recognize Dean from any distance. It’s not just his hair or the clothes he wears. It’s the way he moves and the curve of his lips. It’s the shine of his eyes and the sound of his laugh. Next to him is his brother, Sam. He’s tall even when he’s sitting, his long legs folded in an attempt to be smaller. It isn’t working. Then there’s Lisa. She’s wearing a sundress and has a fresh flower in her hair, but she looks tense. 

As Cas walks closer, he starts to hear their conversation. “If you guys could pick any job in the world… Pretend that everything was different, what would you want to do?” Dean asks.

“Lawyer,” Sam says without hesitation. 

“Nursing,” Lisa says after some consideration. 

“Yeah?” Dean asks, smiling as the sunlight hits his face. Jealousy clenches a fist around Cas’ heart as he watches Dean smile at her. 

“Yeah, healing people…” Lisa plays with a flower idly. “Saving lives,” she says, looking over at Dean pointedly. He looks down, his smile fading. 

“Finding a cure,” Dean mumbles, pulling at the grass. 

Lisa’s look turns icy and Cas hears the memory of her saying, “ Nobody believes in a cure anymore, Dean.” 

“Someday someone’s going to figure this whole thing out and exhume the whole world,” Sam says gently. Dean looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Exhume? Okay, what does that mean?” Dean asks. “Revive?” 

“To dig up — ”

“As in digging up a corpse,” Lisa says icily. 

“Whatever,” Dean sighs, sitting up and shifting uncomfortably. 

Lisa looks away from him and looks up at Cas. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Cas looks around because she can’t possibly be talking to him. The only time they’ve spoken was when she shot him. When he looks back, Sam and Dean are also looking at him. Dean’s expression is soft, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. 

“Are you actually dreaming right now?” Lisa’s voice drips with venom. 

“I’m not sure,” Cas says. He’s surprised that his speech is smooth. He sounds like one of the living.

“You can’t dream, corpse. Dreaming is for humans.”

“Chill out, Lees,” Dean jumps in. “He can dream if he wants to.” Lisa shoots him a dirty look as he stands up. 

Cas feels himself smile as Dean walks toward him. With the sun shining on him, Dean’s brown hair looks lighter. Freckles adorn his cheeks like angel kisses. 

“What about you, Cas? What do you want to be?” His voice is gentle. All Cas wants to do is reach out to him, but he stays still. 

“I don’t know,” Cas answers honestly. “I don’t even know what I am.” 

“Well, you can be whatever you want.” When he says it, all doubt drains from Cas and he actually believes him. He’s filled with hope for the first time and that smile on his face has everything to do with it. 

“We can, right? You and me?” Cas asks.

“It’s not gonna happen, lover boy. Not after you ate his ex,” Lisa says behind Dean. It doesn’t matter though. Dean’s smiling and taking another step closer. He’s near enough that Cas can feel Dean’s breath on his lips.  
  


. . .

Cas opens his eyes. The bright colors are gone, replaced with the dull surroundings of furniture covered in dust. He turns his head and finds Dean’s side of the bed empty. His wet clothes from the night before are gone from their drying rack. 

Cas gets up and goes to his coat that’s hanging just where Dean had put it. He pulls it on awkwardly, his movements stiff again now that he’s not dreaming. There’s a fresh weight in the pocket. He shoves his hand in and comes up with a cassette tape. He drops it back into his pocket, panic filling him as he tries to rush to the stairs. 

“Dean?” Cas calls out. He knows there’s no use. He knows he’s too late. Dean is gone. He stumbles down the stairs too quickly and trips over his dead-weight feet. Pain rockets through him. Pain? He’s never felt that before. He can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. It seems to spread through his entire body. 

He pushes himself up to stand and goes to the table where a polaroid camera and a single picture sit. He picks up the square and sees Dean. His green eyes glow in the candlelight and his easy smile tears Cas to pieces. There’s a dull ache in his chest. He can feel his heart quivering, not yet alive. He remembers the way Dean’s racing heart had felt against his chest the night before, their faces pressed together, eyes locked. 

Cas stares at the picture. He could keep it and feel this ache of longing every day. He could keep it in his coat pocket with Dean’s cassette tape and feel the stabbing pain in his chest that he feels right now. Or. Or he could leave it on the table and walk out the door. He could walk back to his airplane and let his decomposing brain erase that beautiful face and every stunning moment he had spent with a guy named Dean. He might look at the color of the grass and wonder why it hurts so much, but at least he won’t have the picture too. 

Cas drops the polaroid on the table and walks out the door. 

The car is gone from the driveway and the skies are dark with heavy clouds. Cas starts walking back the way they had come. Back to the airport of the undead. Back to his airplane of trinkets and treasures. Back to a life without Dean. 

A drop of rain hits his face as a warning before the downpour begins. There’s a strange ache under his skin. He shivers and wraps his arms around himself. Is he cold? Is this what cold feels like? He keeps walking, unsure of what to do about the new sensation. It’s entirely unpleasant and there doesn’t seem to be a way to fix it. 

Eventually, the rain stops but the chill stays. Cas keeps walking. His legs are protesting. The muscles are tired and overworked. His entire body hurts. He doesn’t understand. He’s never felt pain. He’s walked longer distances without this feeling. Maybe he’s dying. Perhaps his body has decayed enough that it’s ready for him to go sit down and die somewhere for good. That would explain the sleep he had and the pain that’s radiating through his body. 

Cas sits down at the side of the freeway. It’s as good a place as any. There’s an overpass above him, sheltering him from any future rain. Cas closes his eyes and waits.

So much for dreaming. Cas will never be able to be whatever he wants. All he will ever be is a slow, pale, hunched over, dead-eyed zombie. What did he think was going to happen? That Dean would ever want to actually stay with him? It’s hopeless. This is what he gets for wanting more. He should have just been happy with what he had before. Things don’t change. He needs to accept that. It’s easier not to feel. Then he wouldn’t have to feel like this, with pain shooting through his body as he curls up on the side of the road alone and waits for his second death. 

“C!” M calls out. Cas opens his eyes and sits up. Time has obviously passed, but he isn’t sure how much. M is being followed by other undead. There’s a small horde of them ambling toward Cas. 

“M,” Cas greets as he gets up. They stand awkwardly for a moment, staring at each other before M extends a hand. Cas bats it away and goes in for a hug. Her arms don’t bend as well as his, but she hugs him back all the same. 

When they separate, Cas finally asks, “What… are you… doing here?” 

“Bo-on-ies…” she pushes out. Cas wonders if he was ever that bad at talking. “Ch-chased.. m-mee… out. C-came to… f-find… youu. Where…is hhhe?” 

“Went home.” Cas presses his lips together. M lets out a sigh and puts a hand on his shoulder, gripping hard. It hurts but he doesn’t bother telling M that he can feel pain now. 

“Y-youu o-kaay?”

Cas shakes his head. He’s far from okay. He’s in love with one of the living and he’s gone. His body can suddenly feel pain and the cold sting in the air. “No,” he verbalizes. 

M gives his shoulder a rough shake that Cas supposes might have been an attempt at comfort. “B-bitches...mman,” M says. “B-bon-ies… l-looking… f-f-or you.” 

Cas shrugs noncommittally. Let them come. 

“A-and hhhimm.” 

No. He has to keep him safe. It’s the only thing he’s been sure of since his eyes landed on Dean in the pharmacy. 

“Yyou… ssstar-started ssome-thing,” M says as panic races through Cas. “P-pictures…?” M taps her temple with her index finger. “I ssaww… pic-pictures…. Mmmmemm-oriesss…”

“A dream?” Cas guesses mostly because he dreamed last night. 

“A.. dre-eammmm,” M repeats with awe. 

“We’re...changing. I think.” 

M and Cas nod at each other in agreement. It’s exciting. The thought of changing in a way that isn’t dying. Changing in a way that is creating outrage among the bonies. Changing in a way that might lead to some kind of a future with Dean. 

“I have… to tell him,” Cas says. “Will you hhhelp?” 

There’s a groan of consensus among the zombies behind M. They all shuffle their feet in unison and bob their heads with their fragile and decaying necks. M’s mouth quirks into a stiff smirk. “Fffuck...yyyeah.”  
  


. . .

Dean drives away from the house. Away from Cas. His stomach is twisted up inside of him and his heart is choking him. It’s better this way. He pushes Cas from his mind. He can’t think about the blue of his eyes or the sound of his voice repeating his name. He can’t think about Cas’ hands on his body or tangled in his hair. 

Dean slams a hand against the wheel and clenches his jaw to keep the tears from spilling. He was always going to have to leave him.

Dread spreads through him the closer he gets to the city. He can see the walls looming in the distance. His eyes flicker to the gas meter. There’s not enough to get him there. He’s already too close to empty. He sighs and pushes on. This is his home. These are living people. Living people who need him to keep them safe.

_ Keep you safe. _

Dean’s hands tighten on the wheel. This is harder than he thought.  
  


. . .

The car comes to a slow stop and Dean sighs. He’s not ready to abandon this beautiful car. He’s not ready to be done driving. Driving seemed infinite. He could have gone on forever without ever finding the city. He could have driven off into the sunset, but no. The car needs gas and gas isn’t something Dean has readily available. 

He parks the car and gets out, running his hand over the glossy black paint. She was a good car. He makes a note of where to find her for when he leaves the city on his next supply run. He can bring her some gas and have her hidden and ready to go for whenever he decides he’s had enough and needs to drive away. 

Dean walks through the rest of the abandoned cars that act as a sort of barricade before the wall. There are doors missing on some of them. Others are rusted to oblivion. Some flat tires here and there root the cars to their final resting place. 

“Identify yourself!” the poor schmuck on security yells, raising his rifle and pointing it at Dean. 

“It’s just me, Gordon. It’s okay, I’m fine,” Dean says, walking toward him through the minefield of spikes for any unwanted visitors. 

“Stop right there!” Gordon orders.

“It’s okay,” Dean reassures him, putting his hands up as he takes a few more steps. “I’m not infected.”

“I said stop, Dean!” Gordon shouts. 

“Okay, fine.” Dean plants his feet on the ground like the soldier he was trained to be and waits for clearance. Gordon flowers his gun to grab his knife. Dean extends his arm and rolls up his sleeve. Tests aren’t very scientific. Corpses ooze black. Humans bleed red. So Gordon slices into Dean’s arm and steps back with a nod. Red. 

The gates behind Gordon open and John walks out. “Is he okay?” he asks. 

“Clear, sir,” Gordon says as Dean walks past him. 

“Hi, Dad.” 

“I sent half a dozen units out looking for you,” John says coldly. “Sam said you were taken—”

“Yeah, I was,” Dean cuts him off. So Sam’s okay. He made it back. A small bit of tension Dean had been holding onto releases. He wants to turn around and run back to the airport now that he knows Sam is fine. “I escaped. I was holed up in a house in the suburbs and I found a car. Came here.”

“Dean, are you sure nothing bit you?” 

Cas’ face flashes in Dean’s mind. His hand dragging down the side of his face, covering him with zombie blood. His stiff smile after Dean gave him his name. His pale blue eyes and raven hair. 

“Do I look infected to you, Dad?” 

“We have to be safe and I don’t care for the backtalk. Did you get bitten?” 

“No, sir.” 

Dean is met with a fist cracking across his jaw. Pain blossoms but he knows better than to cry out or wince. He straightens and is met with another, higher up on his cheek. 

“You made me waste our resources,” John scolds. “Get inside. Now.” 

Dean notices that all of the security guards, including Gordon, all turned away when John disciplined him. They were learning to look the other way. Putting a hand on the back of his neck, John forces Dean to walk through the gate and into the city.   
  


. . .

Dean walks into his room. His motel room is next to Sam’s on the second floor. The other rooms belong to John and supplies. The rooms that were converted into supply rooms were emptied of their beds and given out to other families as they set up their own homes. With John at work, the motel is quiet. 

He manages to sleep through the rest of the day after having been awake for hours upon hours. His watch stopped working years ago. It’s been at least a full day, bordering on two. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The exhaustion mixed with the soft pillows on his bed lulled him to sleep before he had time to resist. When he wakes up, he runs a hand down the side of his face and winces. 

There’s a few light knocks on the door just as Dean appraises his bruising face in the mirror. It’s probably Sam. Hopefully. He’s not ready for another run-in with John right now. 

Dean opens the door and is immediately wrapped in a tight hug. Just as Dean had stressed about Sam being alive, Sam must have been worried sick. He’d watched as he walked out the door with a horde of the undead. 

What Dean wouldn’t give to be back with that horde right now. 

When Sam finally lets go of him, Dean goes to his bed and leans back against the pillows. Part of him is relieved to be in a bed while another part whispers about the floor of a 747 airplane with a tattered blanket. Sam sits on the edge of the bed and twists his hands. He has something on his mind. 

“What happened? How did you get away from the corpses?” Sam asks finally. Dean winces at the word. 

“Don’t use that word. He was trying to save me. He took me to his… home…” Sam’s look of concern deepens as Dean talks. “We stayed there for a few days. Okay, I know. It was more like a week. We talked… Before you say anything, yes, he can talk. It was so  _ weird _ . I had never heard one of them speak before. He’s so  _ different… _ Anyway… After that, he helped me back out so I could come back.” 

“So a corpse kidnaps you and you  _ talk _ ?”

“I mean it, Sam,” Dean warns. “I mean, corpse is just… it’s just a stupid name that we came up with for a state of being that we don’t understand.” 

Sam drops his eyes and nods slowly. “Yeah…” 

Cas is so much more than that word could ever embody. The last time he can remember belittling Cas with “corpse” was when he realized he was in love. When he had almost kissed him in the dark. Dean makes a strange noise in the back of his throat as he hides his face in his hands. He should have kissed him. He shakes his head. No. He shouldn’t have, but he wanted to. Still wants to. 

“What is wrong with me?” Dean groans. He lets his hands drop, debating telling Sam anything more. “Okay,” he sighs. “I gotta tell you something. This is kinda weird. Please, don’t freak out.” 

“No, I won’t,” Sam reassures him. 

“I actually miss him,” Dean admits. 

Sam takes a deep breath, his eyes growing wide. “You… you miss _him_?”  
  
“I know,” Dean says into his hands, covering his blushing face again. 

“Like… like you’re  _ attracted _ to him?”

“No,” Dean lies into his palms. 

“Like he could be your  _ boyfriend _ ?” Dean’s hands drop and he looks at his brother with shock. “Your zombie boyfriend?”

Dean presses his lips together and clenches his jaw. The words hadn’t been out there. It had never been suggested. He had gone so far as to long for him, his touch, his lips. He had even admitted to himself that he was falling in love, but no one had ever said anything about a boyfriend. 

When Dean refuses to answer, Sam presses on, “I mean, I know it’s really hard to meet people right now, with the apocalypse and stuff… Trust me, but Dean, this is weird. Like, I wish the internet was still working so I could just look up whatever it is that’s wrong with you.” 

Dean picks up a pillow and throws it at Sam. “Shut up.” 

“Alright,” Sam grins, tossing the pillow back. He gets up and walks to the door before turning around. “Hey.”

Dean looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m glad you’re back. I was worried,” He says seriously. Dean nods. He can’t say the same. He’s glad to know Sam’s safe, but he’d rather be on the outside of the city’s walls. “Have sweet dreams about your zombie,” Sam grins mischievously. 

“Alright,” Dean says, cursing himself for blushing again as he brother finally leaves. He goes to his door to lock it before digging into his jacket pocket and coming up with a polaroid picture of a pale-faced, blue-eyed, messy-haired goofball named Cas. 


	9. Chapter 9

Cas lets Lisa’s memories guide him and the horde through the city. As they walk through the outskirts, the group behind him expands. He’s not sure why he’s their leader. 

He passes the bar where Dean and Lisa cried together. He wants to reach into the memory and comfort him, but he presses on. He walks where Dean had walked. He retraces the steps all the way back to the mall. It’s tall and dark, long since abandoned. Cas opens the door and steps into the darkened building. He moves to allow everyone else in after him and keeps going until the empty food court is filled with the dead. 

“Wait here,” Cas says to M. He’s led the undead through the city and to the mall where Dean had once walked with Lisa. It’s big enough for the group that grew considerably since they had started their journey toward the city. 

“B-be… c-care...ful,” M replies. Cas nods and pushes forward, leaving his horde behind. 

He’s practically running through the mall, each footstep echoing as he makes his way to the next door. Hope fills him as each step brings him closer to Dean. There’s no hesitation as he busts out of the mall and into the streets. He feels exhilaration, which he never thought he would feel and had always envied the living of. 

Following the map of memories, Cas makes his way into the subway. There’s not long to go now. The subway station has become the safest place to be, yet the living and the dead both ignore the space. The bonies don’t go down there, the living steer clear, and the dead have forgotten about its existence. Cas can’t remember ever using the subway because his food source stayed above the surface. 

When he makes it so the second door with the blockade he presses his hand against the cool metal and takes an unnecessary breath to steel himself. 

Finally in the city, Cas is surprised that he recognizes where he is. All of it is from Lisa’s old memories. He remembers her walking these streets with Dean, accompanied only by grief. He lets her dead memories guide him through the streets. 

He moves it carefully and checks to make sure there’s no one who can see him as he steps foot inside of the city. He turns a corner and finds that the city isn’t as empty as it had initially looked. Living people mill about, chatting and carrying things. It’s much more alive than the airport. Back there everyone just shuffled aimlessly and slowly. The most conversation that Cas was aware of was when he and M would grunt at each other. He feels a vague notion of envy as he passes them. 

Someone looks in his direction and he stiffens, fear gripping him. He can’t let them know that he’s not one of them. He keeps his eyes down and moves his coat to cover the stab wound in his chest that Dean gave him. 

With all of the distractions of trying not to be noticed, Cas almost forgets to follow the memories to Dean’s doorstep. He makes it to a less traveled alley and looks out at the bustling city as he recalls Lisa’s memories. He sees the motel and forgets to walk slowly, excitement taking over and almost making him trip over his dead feet. 

Dean is there. He just doesn’t know where.   
  


. . .

Dean can’t sleep. His face hurts from the two punches and his heart hurts from leaving Cas. He keeps telling himself that Cas will forget. He’ll go back to his museum of an airplane and he’ll forget the time they spent together. Dean won’t forget, though. He can’t. 

He pushes himself off of his bed, pajamas or not, and goes outside onto the balcony. It’s cold, but the bite of the air feels good against his bruised face. He sits on the railing and sighs, picking at a stray fuzz on his pajama pants. 

“ Deeeeeann,” a horse whisper calls. His heart slams in his chest. It sounds like Cas. It can’t be Cas. He looks down and finds Cas. 

“Cas,” Dean answers breathlessly. “What’re you doing here?” 

He’s standing below the railing, his dark hair windblown and wild, eyes so light they’re almost translucent, and that awkward smile stretching his lips. “I… came to… see you,” he manages. 

Dean’s heart is beating wildly in his chest, relief and fear mixing in his veins. “Cas, you can’t just do that!” He’s so glad he did that. “It’s dangerous!” 

“Dean, shut up!” Sam yells from his bedroom. “I’m trying to sleep!”

“Uh, sorry!” Dean yells back before looking back down at Cas. “Fuck, Cas. Are you crazy? The people here… They’re not like me. If they see you, you will get killed. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Cas says confidently and without any hesitation or stutter. 

“Are you talking to yourself?” Sam yells again.

“No!” Dean says too quickly, turning around as Sam opens his door. 

“Okay, seriously. What is going on out here, Dean?” Dean panics and looks down at Cas which does the opposite of what Dean wants. Sam walks to the railing and looks down. He gasps immediately and Dean clenches his jaw. “Oh my god. That’s him. Is that him? That’s him.” 

“Yeah…” Dean trails off, looking between his brother and his guardian angel. Cas lifts his hand in a stiff wave and it might be the cutest thing Dean’s ever seen, but he still winces at the awkwardness. 

“Sup." Sam waves back with a strange look on his face. 

“Wait in my room,” Dean says to Sam, pulling him away from the railing. “We’ll be up in a sec.” 

“But—”

Dean closes the door on him. He can’t stop himself from running to the stairs and practically flying down them, taking two and three steps at a time. When his feet hit the ground, his entire body freezes. Cas stands in front of him and seems to steal all of the air from the atmosphere, even though he’s clearly not breathing. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. His speech more of a breath than a groan now. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too.” He is the one who ran away. Three times. 

Cas looks down at his shoes and back up. His eyes are filled with apologies and unasked questions. Dean steps forward into Cas’ arms and melts against him. Yes, he still reeks of death, but he’s Cas. His arms are tight around Dean and he feels like home. 

“I missed you,” Dean whispers into his shoulder, shutting his eyes and holding him tighter. 

“Me too,” Cas answers gently. 

A siren in the streets makes them both start. Their hug breaks, but Cas grabs Dean’s hand instead. It makes his heart stutter as he laces his fingers with Cas’. 

“That’s the patrol. Come on.” He leads Cas up the stairs slowly. His movements are still slow and stiff, his legs needing time to bend, but at least he can do it. Dean remains patient, but tense, holding onto Cas as he looks over his shoulder to watch for the patrol. 

When they get to the second-floor landing, Dean leads him to his room where Sam is waiting.   
  


. . .

Dean lets go of Cas’ hand once they get inside of the room. They’re surrounded by the bright light coming from the lamps. Cas can’t remember ever having seen a lightbulb turned on. He turns to face Dean and feels rage and sorrow war inside of him when he sees Dean’s jaw and cheek are purple, bruised in the shape of a fist. Cas reaches out and touches his face gently, being careful not to add pressure. 

“Keep you… safe,” Cas tries. His voice cracks and he wonders why. Dean catches his hand, their eyes locked. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says, his voice low. 

He knows who’s fault it is. He can hear the slap that Lisa heard from the next room. He should have been by Dean’s side, ready to protect him. He never should have let himself fall asleep. He—

Sam clears his throat and Dean lets go of Cas’ hand. He can feel the reluctance in the movement and watches Dean cross the room to lean against a wall. Cas sits down on the opposite bed facing Sam.

“This is Cas,” Dean says. “Cas, this is my brother, Sam.” 

“How’d you die?” Sam asks, leaning forward. His face is too close, but Cas doesn’t move. 

“I...don’t rem-ember,” Cas says shakily, keeping his eyes on Sam. 

“How old are you?” Sam probes.

Cas’ age is long since forgotten. He tries to think of a number, but none come to mind. His past is missing, swallowed up by years of brain matter deteriorating, crumbling to dust in his skull. He shrugs and looks over at Dean for help. 

“Because you could be twenty-something, but you could also be in your thirties or forties. You know, you have one of those faces.” 

“Fucking hell, Sam,” Dean groans, covering his face for a second. “He didn’t come here for an interview. Stop.” Dean pushes off the wall and comes to sit beside Cas. Their legs brush and the room seems brighter somehow. “Why did you come here, Cas?” 

“To show… everyone.” All of his attention belongs to Dean and those green eyes. 

“To show them what?” Dean leads. 

“That we can...change.” Cas smiles triumphantly. There’s a subway filled with the undead who are learning what it feels like to be on the edge of life again. 

“Cas,” Dean sighs. “No one here is ever going to buy that. Not that we could even get you close enough to tell them. As soon as they saw you, they would blow your head to bits.”

Sam nods in morose agreement, his lips turned down into an exaggerated frown. Cas feels his hope start to degrade like the rest of his rotting body. 

“Wait. Did you say  _ we _ ?” Dean asks. 

Cas nods, smiling again. “Lot’s of us… changing. We’re dreaming.” 

“That’s kind of a big deal.”

“W-we have to move...fast,” Cas urges. He takes Dean’s hand in his and squeezes. Dean squeezes back. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Bonies… Chasing me… chasing u-us.” 

Dean’s face falls. There’s worry etched into every line of his face as he turns to look at his brother. Cas watches the muscles of Dean’s jaw clench. Even upset, Dean is beautiful. 

“We have to go to Dad,” Dean says quietly. 

“No. That is a  _ very _ bad idea,” Sam protests. Cas silently agrees with Sam, the rage over seeing Dean’s bruised face surfacing again. 

“He was a reasonable guy once.” Dean’s attempt is weak. His voice betrays him. Not even Dean believes the words he’s saying. 

“No. I think you’re confused. Mom was the reasonable one. It was Dad who dropped you off at Sonny’s Home for Boys when you stole food to feed me. Are you serious? It was Dad who kicked you out of the house for disagreeing with him. It’s Dad that likes to shoot corpses in the head.” 

“What other choice do we have, Sam?” The resignation in his voice claws at Cas’ dead heart. “Still, we’d have to get him through the city.” Dean turns to Cas and runs his thumb over his hand. “Someone would definitely see you.” 

“There’s not much...time,” Cas says even though he still knows nothing about the passage of time. He could have been outside of the motel for minutes or days. The only way he had started to mark time was by how many times Dean slept. The bonies could be anywhere from at the airport, beginning their search, to in the subway, massacring and hunting. Cas has no idea, but he still feels the need to rush. 

“We can fix him up,” Sam offers. Dean and Cas turn to look at him at the same time. “Jessica had some makeup she was saving…” 

“Yeah,” Dean looks between Sam and Cas. “We could put on a little bit of whatever that stuff is?”

“Foundation,” Sam supplies. “Maybe a little blush..?”  
  
“Probably a lot of blush,” Dean laughs. It’s the sweetest sound to accompany the most genuine and beautiful smiles. That laugh is intoxicating and addicting. Cas wants to hear it every day.   
  


. . .  
  
  


Sam excuses himself to go get the makeup. The room feels smaller with it being just Dean and Cas again. Every noise seems louder, every light brighter, and they are still holding hands. Dean lets go and stands up. 

“First thing’s first. You need a shower,” Dean says. Cas looks at him blankly. “Come on.” Dean leads Cas to the bathroom and turns on the hot water. “You reek, dude. We also need to get all of the blood off.” 

When Dean turns around to face him again, Cas is holding the mixtape he’d left in the pocket of the trench coat. He holds it out to Dean, his lips turning downward. 

“It’s a gift,” Dean says, pushing his hand back gently. “You keep those.” 

Cas smiles a little, still a little awkward and still too cute for Dean to see without blushing. “Play it?” Cas asks, holding out the tape again. 

“You got it.” Dean takes the tape into the next room and pushes it into the tape deck. Zeppelin fills the room and he nods before returning to the bathroom. Cas still hasn’t moved. “Need help?” Dean asks, biting the inside of his cheek. Cas nods. 

Dean sucks in a breath as he steps closer to Cas and helps slip the trench coat off. They’ve been here before. He does the same with the suit coat and tries not to think about the fact that he’s undressing Cas. He hangs the coats up on the back door and clears his throat before turning around again. He can feel Cas watching him as he unties a tie that must have been knotted since the beginning of this whole mess. It’s been tied backwards for roughly eight years. Dean lets the tie fall to the floor and starts on the buttons of the once-white shirt. He’s standing closer than he needs to be and he’s positive that Cas can feel his heart beating even though their chests aren’t touching. When he peels the shirt away from Cas’ torso, he can’t help but run his fingers over the cuts and bullet holes from over the years. There’s one close to his heart where Dean had plunged a dagger in only a week or so ago. 

“Does it hurt?” Dean asks, finally looking into Cas’ eyes. 

He shakes his head slowly. “No,” he says so softly it’s a whisper. 

Dean looks away again, snapping the tension between them like a cord. He kneels to take off Cas’ disgusting dress shoes and socks before he stands again and rubs his fingers over the top of Cas’ pants. The blue eyes capture him again. They remain locked together as Dean releases the belt and slowly unzips Cas. Their noses brush as the pants drop to the floor. 

A knock on the door sips between them. Dean takes a step back and hurriedly helps Cas out of his boxer briefs and into the shower. Yes, he looked. Yes, he’s blushing. 

“Just, uh, rinse off and play with the soaps I guess? Make sure to clean your hair. I’ll be back in a minute.” Dean takes the dirty clothes and balls them up in front of himself before answering the door to let Sam in.   
  


. . .

Cas stands still under the water. He can feel the heat, just as he had felt the cold of the rain. Steam surrounds him. He is alone. He’s sure that if he needed to breathe, he would drown right now. He looks down at the blackish ooze washing away from his chest, the wounds all being irrigated. 

“Cas?” Dean calls from the other side of the curtain. “Are you clean?”

“No,” Cas answers, the water on his lips making him sound weird. He hasn’t moved from under the water. Dean moves the curtain back a little. 

“Come here,” he sighs. Cas turns around and takes a few small steps toward Dean and out of the water. He watches Dean pump some opaque liquid into his hands before scrubbing it into Cas’ wet skin. Dean’s entire face is pink and he refuses to make eye contact. The pressure of his hands is nice and the feeling in his stomach is new. Maybe he’s nervous. “Turn,” Dean instructs after clearing his throat. Cas turns around and concentrates on Dean’s stong hands rubbing the soap into his back, legs, and ass. “Rinse off.”

Cas steps back into the water and stands still, watching the bubbles rush off of him and down the drain. He hears Dean laugh a little behind him so he turns around. He’s kneeling on the floor with his arms folded on the rim of the bathtub. His hands are still covered in soap and some of the bubbles drip into the tub from his fingertips. Cas tilts his head and Dean only shakes his, still smiling. 

“Alright,” Dean says, standing up. He reaches into the stream of water to rinse his hands before he grabs another bottle. “Shampoo for your hair.” Cas stands still as Dean rubs the new soap into his hair. If he knew how, he would count Dean’s freckles. Instead, he just tries to memorize them all. When they repeat for conditioner, Dean finally looks Cas in the eyes and smiles so his glitter. 

“Let’s get you dried off and dressed.” Dean turns the shower off before grabbing a towel. Cas steps out of the tub and feels the squirm in his stomach again as Dean rubs the warm towel into his naked body. He can hear his gift playing in the next room and smiles. If their plan works, he can spend the rest of his days like this. With Dean. 


	10. Chapter 10

Cas stands in front of Dean wearing his clothes. Dean’s jeans are a little long on him, but not too bad. His baggy AC/DC t-shirt hangs and clings to Cas in all the right places. He looks like he could fit in. Sure, he’s pale and his eyes are still that deathly pale color, but he’s clean and he smells a million times better. 

“What?” Cas asks. Dean’s been staring. Appraising. Whatever. 

“Let’s brush your teeth before Sammy does your makeup, okay?” Well there’s a sentence Dean didn’t think he would ever say. Dean grabs the fresh toothbrush that Sam had brought from storage and preps it with minty toothpaste. “Open your mouth like this.” Dean opens his mouth and Cas mimics him. 

Dean wraps Cas’ stiff fingers around the toothbrush and guides him to brush his own teeth. White foam fills Cas’ mouth as he scrubs away the bloodstains and memories of flesh and brain. Cas looks like a rabid puppy. 

“Spit,” Dean instructs, pointing to the sink. Cas does as he’s told and pauses, catching his reflection in the mirror. There’s a flash of concern in his eyes before he looks away and continues to brush his teeth. Dean checks his mouth before giving Cas a cup of water to rinse. “Breathe?” Cas lets out a soft breath and Dean leans into it, sniffing hesitantly. He nods. Much better. 

Dean opens the door of the bathroom and they step out together. “Do your thing. I’m gonna shower,” Dean says as Cas walks toward Sam and the small array of makeup. 

“You don’t smell rotten anymore!” Sam exclaims as Dean closes the door. “He doesn’t smell rotten!” He shouts so Dean can hear. “Amazing.”   
  


. . .

“Alright,” Sam says as the shower turns on in the next room. “You don’t like… still want to eat people… right?” Cas shakes his head, surprised to realize he hasn’t been hungry or thought about food since he spit out the last of Lisa’s brains in the parking garage. “Good,” Sam sighs with obvious relief. He moves closer to Cas now, makeup in hand. 

Dean had asked if there were others like Cas: undead who could think and feel and speak. Now, sitting close to another one of the living, Cas wonders the same. Are there others among the living like Dean? Others who don’t want to kill him and are willing to try to understand whatever this transformation is? He wonders this silently as he stares straight ahead while Sam uses a brush to apply powder to his face. 

“Can I ask you something?” Sam asks. 

“Yes.” 

“Why did you take him?” 

When he had taken him, there wasn’t a good answer. Cas had even asked himself the same question, thinking for sure he had lost what was left of his mind. The only thing that had made sense was that he wanted and still wants to keep Dean safe. Safe from the dead and the living. Cas shifts, unable to give Sam an answer. 

“I thought he was as good as dead,” Sam admits, pressing the brush into pink powder. “You saved him, didn’t you?” 

Cas nods. He can’t remember much, but he remembers staring into Dean’s green eyes as he masked that living smell with the black blood from his freshly stabbed chest. He can feel Dean’s fist in his hand as he pulled him out of the room. He can see the fear in those beautiful eyes change to trust. “To keep him ssafe,” Cas says softly. 

“Thank you.” Sam brushes the pink onto Cas’ cheeks. A few moments of silence pass as Sam concentrates. He sits back and bites his lip, assessing his work. Cas hears the water shut off in the bathroom and his eyes flicker toward the door and back to Sam. 

“Dean isn’t normally like this. At least, he hasn’t been like this in a long time,” Sam says quietly. He brushes Cas’ hair. It feels wrong, but Cas allows it. “You get how weird this is, right?” 

“Yes,” Cas lies. 

“Why Dean?” 

“He…” Cas looks down, trying not to look toward the bathroom where Dean is brushing his teeth loudly. It’s a great question. Why Dean? What about his freckled cheeks and gorgeous eyes makes Cas feel alive? Why does the sound of his laugh and the touch of his hand make the world brighter than the sun ever could? Maybe it’s because all of those things. Maybe it’s all of those things and more. It’s the sound of his voice while he reads the books that Cas can’t. It’s his gentle snore as he sleeps and the smile on his lips. 

The bathroom door opens and Cas looks over. Dean stops and swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing once as his jaw clenches.  
  
Dean is clean for the first time. His skin is scrubbed clean of all the dirt and grime and zombie blood. His hair that had become soft and fluffy is styled as it had been the first time they met. His grown-out stubble is trimmed back down to a slight dusting over his jaw. 

“He looks good, doesn’t he?” Sam asks. Cas isn’t sure if Sam is talking to him or Dean, but they both look away from each other. Sam holds a mirror up for Cas. His skin looks less pale now and his cheeks have a tint of pink. It’s a less dramatic version of when Dean’s cheeks burn red. He doesn’t like his hair combed and parted, but he leaves it. 

“One thing,” Dean says. His fingers run through Cas’ hair and it’s like electricity shooting through his body. He feels like he’s holding his breath even though he doesn’t need to breathe. The pink in his cheeks is fitting now.   
  


. . .

Dean goes to his closet and grabs two sweaters. He pulls his black hoodie on before helping Cas into the other. “We should go,” he says as he walks toward his dresser. He pulls two guns from a false bottom and hands one to Sam. The other goes into the back of his jeans, easily hidden by his hoodie. 

Sam checks his gun and nods before following Dean and Cas out of the room. Dean glances down at Cas’ hand and hesitates before taking it. Their fingers twine together. Dean tries to remember a time that he felt this excited about holding someone’s hand. He can’t and that feels even better. 

As soon as they’re at the bottom of the stairs, Dean takes his hand back and shoves it into his pocket, knowing that everyone seeing Dean Winchester holding hands with a stranger will draw more attention than the stranger himself. 

Sam takes the lead, his hands in his pockets too, concealing the gun he might have to use if this all goes sideways. Dean glances at Cas. Anxiety ripples through him. There’s no way this is going to work, but it’s worth it to try. Cas is worth all of it. 

“Keep you safe,” Cas promises in a whisper. Dean nods, comforted even though this entire mission is about protecting Cas. 

They stay quiet as they walk through the city. Dean wants to grab Cas’ hand and run away from this city and his father. He wants to run away from the skeletons that are hunting them down. He wants to hide in a house in the suburbs with this raven-haired man. 

“What?” Cas asks, head tilting to the side as he glances at Dean. 

“Nothing,” Dean says, looking away after he realizes he was staring. “Just… You look nice.” Then again, Cas always looks nice. Dean clears his throat and looks down to watch his feet as he walks. “I don’t know how this is going to go. My dad can get kinda crazy. This might not work.” 

“Hhhey,” Cas grabs Dean’s hand and stops walking. Dean turns to face him and squeezes Cas’ hand. “No matter what… we stay together. We’re changing everything.” 

“I know,” Dean breathes, eyes flitting between Cas’ eyes and his lips. 

“Come on,” Sam urges, making Dean drop Cas’ hand and start walking again. “It’s game time.” 

“Alright, let’s do this,” Dean sighs, not at all ready to deal with John Winchester. Now Dean is leading the small group toward the militia base of the city. He forces himself to stay calm, slowing his heartbeat and putting his soldier training ahead of every emotion he’s feeling. 

“Excuse me,” Gordon says, stepping forward to meet Dean. Fuck. He doesn’t want to deal with this asshole right now. Dean stops walking and squares his shoulders. “Where are you guys headed?”

“To see my dad,” Dean answers coldly. 

“Winchester, I can’t let you guys in,” Gordon says, standing between Dean and the door. “We’re on high alert around here.” 

“Why? What’s going on?” Dean asks though he’s sure he already knows. He has a feeling it has everything to do with why Cas is here. 

“It’s classified.” Gordon looks smug. 

Dean wants to punch that look right off of his face. Sam steps up next to Dean, probably to keep him from punching Gordon. “Well, we have our own classified business, so come on,” Sam says, pushing Gordon to the side to make a path to the door. Sam and Dean both walk toward the entrance and stop when Cas doesn’t come with them.

“Hello,” Gordon says suspiciously. 

“H-how are you?” Cas tries, his nerves making him stutter. 

“He’s fine,” Sam hisses, grabbing Cas’ arm and pulling him past Gordon. “Don’t mess with him. He’s dangerous.” Cas nods as if making a mental note of Sam’s warning. Dean winds his fingers through Cas’ and pulls him inside.   
  


. . .

The inside of the base is alive with motion. There are living people everywhere buzzing about like bees. There’s a low rumble of conversations piled on top of each other. Sam and Dean seem unphased by the bustle around them, but the only thing keeping Cas from stopping to stare at the movement around him is Dean’s hand leading him through the room. 

He notices Sam glance at their linked hands before smiling a little at the back of Dean’s head. He remembers the crowd of the undead parting ways as they saw Dean hold Cas’ hand in the garage before leaving the airport. They really are changing everything. 

“Okay, you guys wait here,” Dean says, leaving Cas with Sam in an out of the way hiding spot. Cas watches as Dean steps out into the open. 

An older man with dark hair and salt and pepper stubble that Cas knows to be John from Lisa’s memory is across the room. As soon as Dean takes a few steps, John looks up and abandons the task he’d been doing. Cas wants to lunge at him. He wants to stand between him and Dean. He feels Sam’s hand on his arm, keeping him rooted to the spot. 

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” John asks as he approaches. 

“What’s going on? What is all this?” 

“I’m not sure, but it’s not good,” John says. “We’ve been getting reports that there are sizeable packs of skeletons and corpses coming toward us. We don’t know why, but if they’re here to attack, there’s nothing we can do about it. Too many of them, too few of us.”

“Why wasn’t I informed?” Dean stands differently in front of his father. His shoulders are squared, his arms stiff at his sides. He looks like a toy soldier with his legs snapped together and his jaw set. 

“You were MIA for a week, Dean.”

“I think I know why they’re assembling,” Dean says.

“I’m listening.” John crosses his arms and gives Dean his full attention. 

“This is going to sound really crazy, but I think the dead are coming back to life.” That’s the first time Dean has voiced it. It’s the first time Cas has heard it out loud. It makes it more real. 

“That does sound crazy.”

“They’re changing, Dad. They’re curing themselves. This isn’t an attack.”  
  
“You think they’re curing themselves? How’s that?” They’re sizing each other up. They look more like father and son now than they ever did in Lisa’s memories.  
  
“I f—saw it. It’s really happening.” Was he going to say he felt it? Cas sucks in a breath. 

“No. You know what is happening, Dean? What’s happening is every day there are more of them and less of us. They are not curing themselves. We’re their food source. They are not becoming vegan. Okay? They don’t eat broccoli. They eat brains. Your mother’s and your girlfriend’s included. Okay? So I want you to wake up.” John taps Dean’s forehead with a strong  _ thunk _ and rage spills into Cas. 

“Where are you going?” Sam whispers, grabbing at Cas’ sleeve. 

“Dean,” is the only answer. Sam releases him and Cas steps out of the hiding place. He pulls Dean away from John as he steps between them, guarding Dean with his body. He feels Dean’s hands on his arm, but he doesn’t move. John is frozen, his icy glare stuck on Cas. 

His eyes rake up and down Cas before he asks, “Who are you?” His voice is oddly calm. 

“I… I’m.. C-c —” Dammit, why does all of his speech fly out the window now? He’s back to being nothing but C. He can’t even get his new name out. 

“You’re a corpse,” John says it. It’s not a question. He knows. 

“He saved my life,” Dean says, pulling Cas back again so Dean is once again between them. “He took care of me. He’s different. His change started something in all of them.” 

John shoves Dean to the side and draws his gun in one swift movement. He aims his gun at Cas and takes a threatening step closer before Dean pushes himself up, lunging at John. Sam runs out as Dean slams John into the parked military jeep they’re standing next to. Cas doesn’t see who starts it, but he’s sure John throws the first punch. He’s never seen Dean so mad.   
  


. . .

Dean has his dad’s collar balled into his fists when the first punch hits his already sore jaw. He snarls as he gives another shove and frees one hand to punch back. He’d yelled at his father. He’d been hit, thrown out of the house, and sent away. He had never hit his father back before now. 

“Stop!” Sam shouts, aiming his gun at his father. Dean spits blood onto the floor and wipes his hand across his mouth as he steps away. He feels Cas’ hand on his back and takes a steadying breath. Sam doesn’t look at Dean, but his words are directed at him. “Go. Get out of here and be safe. Okay?” 

“Dean?” his dad says in a soft, pleading voice. 

“I have to go.” Dean twines his fingers with Cas’ and gives his brother a grateful close-lipped smile before he starts toward an exit. 

“You’re not going to shoot me, Sam,” he hears his dad say. 

“Yes, I will,” Sam says confidently. It’s the last Dean hears before he breaks into a run.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean stops running when they reach an empty alley. He leans against a wall and lets out a hollow laugh as he catches his breath. “That could have gone better.” 

Cas tilts his head, his pale eyes searching Dean for a moment before he nods in sideways agreement. Dean feels himself smile as he pushes off of the wall. 

“We hhhave to warn my f-friends,” Cas says. 

“Where?” Dean asks, suddenly ready to jump back into the action. They don’t have long before John sends out all the armed forces he has at his disposal. The living may be outnumbered but they have guns and agility. 

“Mall.” 

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean starts walking in the direction of the mall, his only way out of here, when the alarms start blaring. Floodlights brighten the night and panic rips through him. His timing could use some work. “Shit! Come on!” 

He breaks into a run again, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He can see Cas following him at an awkward run in his peripheral vision. When they make it to the subway, Dean pulls the makeshift door covers away and holds them while Cas stumbles through. He checks for anyone who might have followed before following Cas through and closing them into the rundown subway station. 

“How did you know how to get in?” Dean asks as they start to walk. Cas presses his lips together and looks down. “Nevermind.” 

Dean reaches out and takes Cas’ hand as he walks. Their footsteps echo loudly but Dean feels oddly safe. He can’t remember the last time he was down here. It was probably when Ben died and he couldn’t stand to stay in that stuffed up city for another moment. Lisa had been with him then and he’d refused to touch her, let alone look at her. It was the end for them, but it’s the beginning with Cas.   
  


. . .

Dean sees it before he’s even made it to the food court of the mall. The entire space is filled with the undead. They stand shoulder to shoulder as there’s barely any more room for them to stand without spilling out into the rest of the mall. Dean’s hand tightens on Cas’. He trusts Cas. He trusts that the rest of them are changing because Cas told him that. He trusts that even if they aren’t, Cas will protect him like the guardian angel he claimed to be. 

“M,” Cas greets as they approach the crowd. The biker chick from the airport is there. Dean wonders if that’s all she has left of her name just like Cas had only had C. 

“C,” she answers before dragging her eyes over to Dean. “Deeeeann.” 

“Hi.” He can’t help but feel awkward. Sure, she helped them escape, but she also attacked him in baggage claim and wanted to eat his brains like ten minutes before that assisted escape. 

“Rready… f-for a… fff-fight,” she groans. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean looks out over the unmoving crowd behind her. His dad was right. They outnumber the living easily. 

“Soldiers coming,” Cas says. M nods once. “Bonies… closing in.” 

A noise above makes everyone look up. The glass dome above the food court is covered in bonies. They’re all pounding at the glass with fists and feet. The glass is cracking under their attack. 

“They-rrr hhheeere nnow,” M groans flatly. 

“Fuck!”

“Keep them out,” Cas says as he untangles his fingers from Dean’s in preparation for their inevitable run through the mall. 

“W-we willlll,” M promises. 

“Run!” Dean yells to Cas as he takes off. He can hear Cas’ feet behind him as glass shatters and bonies rain from the sky.   
  


. . .

Running is still new. It feels awkward and jarring. The world is moving by faster than usual but without the smoothness of riding in a car. Cas’ kneecaps scrape through his thin cartilage, a muffled pain alerting him to his broken-down body. His arms hang limply at his sides, his hands sometimes knocking against the tops of his legs. He doesn’t know what to do with them. They feel like limp noodles attached to his rotten shoulder sockets. 

Dean is elegant though. He’s fast and dexterous, jumping over obstacles or pushing them to the side as he goes. His feet seem to barely touch the floor. He remains aware of everything even as he runs which tells Cas that Dean doesn’t feel the pain that he’s feeling. Dean is unperturbed by any bodily function as he glances over his shoulder to check on Cas before glancing around to figure out their next path. 

A head-splitting screech behind them has Dean reaching for the gun he had tucked into his jeans. He aims backwards and shoots. The first shot only hits the bonie in the shoulder so he shoots again. It goes down, crumpling into a heap of bones on the floor. 

Cas doesn’t see what Dean sees. He follows him blindly through the maze that is the mall. There’s a set of stairs that lead up to the second floor and Cas follows as Dean throws himself onto it, his hand brushing the metal handrail as he propels himself up. 

Over the railing, Cas catches a glimpse of what they’re avoiding. Soldiers are moving in on the bottom floor, spreading out as they shout orders and raise their guns. 

“Come on!” Dean calls, snapping Cas’ attention back to their winding path. He follows Dean and up another floor they go. Dean’s sprint is impressive. It seems like he could run forever. 

There’s a screech behind Cas, but it’s too close. There’s no time between the sound and Cas falling to the floor. He wrestles the bonie’s face away from his, trying to keep the gnashing jaws away from him. 

“No!” Dean yells. Cas turns his face to see Dean raise his gun before he’s tackled by a second one. 

“Dean!” Cas yells. He tries to shove the bonie off of him so he can go save Dean, but the claw-like fingers dig into his arms and scrape at his flesh. It bites the air in front of his face. Cas reaches for whatever that thing lying on the floor is and stretches his fingers to grab it. Hitting the bonie over the head does little to nothing. He turns his face to the side again and stares at Dean. 

He’s let him down. He gained Dean’s trust by protecting him and now he’s failed when it matters the most. Dean is groaning with frustration as he strains to keep from being eaten. His arms won’t hold forever. Dean turns and looks at Cas. Even from this distance, Cas can see the green of his eyes. He looks into them and hears the past laughter, feels the music moving around him as he dances in his airplane, and feels a stutter in his chest. It’s not a beat. His heart isn’t beating. It’s more of a quiver and it hurts. 

Dean moves his arm and shoots the bonie that’s on top of Cas instead of the one on top of him. Dean is sacrificing himself for Cas. Dumbass. 

Cas didn’t know he could move so fast. He throws the dead thing off of him and scrambles to Dean, thwacking the bonie with the heavy piece of debris. It flies off of Dean and hits the wall before getting up and advancing again. Another loud shot rings out and the bonie drops. 

“Teamwork,” Dean pants with a sideways smile on his lips. How Dean manages to smile in this situation, Cas will never know, but he loves it. Cas pulls Dean to his feet with ease but without grace. Dean laughs at the awkwardness before he says, “Come on,” and starts to run again. 

Cas has lost track of where they are and how far they’ve run. There are gunshots below, distant battle cries of bonies, and the sounds of a massive horse of the undead groaning. 

They turn a corner and see too many bonies to take on. Dean immediately stops running, skidding to a halt. Cas almost runs into him but stops in time, gently putting a hand on Dean’s arm to pull him away before the bonies move. 

The leader of this small pack lets out a high scream and they start running for them. Dean grabs onto Cas as he runs this time. He shoves open a door that leads to nothing. 

“Fuck!” Dean yells, panic in his eyes as he watches his exit disappear to a group of bonies closing in on him. He looks up at Cas with wide eyes. “It’s over,” he breathes. Tears fill his eyes but he refuses to let them fall. 

“No.” Cas shakes his head. “Keep you safe,” he promises for what must be the millionth time. Dean looks down at the drop and back up at Cas. He’s breathing hard and Cas isn’t sure if it’s from fear or running, but it’s probably both at this point. “It’ll be okay.” 

Dean is holding onto Cas’ hoodie, his knuckles white. Cas wraps his arms around Dean protectively and tightens, pressing Dean against him. They turn and Cas steps backwards, off the ledge to nothing. Dean’s heart beats for both of them, slamming against Cas’ chest and back into Dean’s. Free-falling through the air with a heart beating against his chest and the best thing that ever happened to him wrapped up in his arms, Cas feels alive. 

Above are monsters, unable to reach their prey. Below is a broken fountain, water pooled and unmoving. Between is a falling angel protecting the one he loves. 

The water hits his back. It’s cold and wet. He lets go of Dean as water fills his nose and mouth. The beating of his heart is gone, the heat of his body rushing away as they separate. Then the stone bottom of the fountain slams against his back. His skull is next with a jolt and everything goes black.   
  


. . .

Dean gasps as he reaches the surface of the water. He’s in one piece after jumping from a four-story ledge into a fountain. It’s deep enough that standing, the water still comes up to Dean’s chest. He lets out a half-victorious, half-hysterical laugh of a cheer before turning around to share the moment with Cas. Where is Cas?

“Cas?!” Dean spots him, lying completely still at the bottom of the fountain. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, his limbs limp. “No!” Without hesitation, Dean dives back into the water and grabs Cas, pulling his dead weight back up to the surface. Water spills from Cas’ lips as Dean cups his face gently. “Cas, please.” 

His blue eyes blink open slowly before focusing on Dean. His lips twitch into a small smile and relief pumps through Dean’s heart. His thumb strokes Cas’ cheek tenderly. His heart pounds, his mind races, his eyes flit between Cas’ eyes and his full lips. 

Slowly, as if it’s his first kiss, Dean leans in. His face feels hot and he can’t feel his heart anymore as it’s going as fast as a hummingbird’s. The tips of their noses touch first. Just that simple touch is enough to fill Dean’s stomach with butterflies. Their lips press together. It’s gentle and sweet, their lips parting for each other. 

Cas breaks the kiss and Dean presses his forehead to Cas’. He bites his lip as he looks into Cas’ eyes. They’re different. The deathly pale blue is gone, replaced by an intense blue that holds the oceans and skies. 

Dean kisses him again. This time, their lips crash together as Dean pulls Cas closer, his hands tangling into the wet wild mass of dark hair. He feels Cas’ arms around his middle, pulling his body closer.

Everything is perfect. The early morning light is warm on his skin as happiness fills him. He feels like he’s in love, wrapped in his arms as his heart beats wildly and they kiss sloppily around smiles and gross fountain water.

“Move away from it, Dean,” his dad’s voice orders behind him. Their kiss breaks and Dean turns around, shielding Cas with his body. John has his gun raised and aimed directly at them. “Now.” 

“No.” Dean stands taller. “You have to listen to me. They’re changing. He’s changed. Fuck, I’ve changed. Dad, we can’t shoot first and ask questions later.”

“You’re infected, aren’t you?” John asks. 

“No. What the fu-” 

John shoots. Dean sees it happen. He feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He looks down at the water turning red around him.

Cas moves and there’s another shot but Dean doesn’t see it. He stumbles backward a few steps and Cas catches him. His gray shirt is red. Cas’ arms are shaking and his vibrant blue eyes are filled with worry. 

“Next one’s the head,” John warns. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes. His chest feels heavy and his mouth tastes like pennies. “You’re bleeding.” 

A third gunshot rings out, but it sounds far away. Dean feels like he’s drowning, but his face is above the water. He grabs onto Cas’ shirt as the world dips and fades away from him.   
  


. . .

“Cas, please.” Dean’s voice breaks. 

Cas blinks blearily before focusing on Dean. His green eyes are bright and his hair is sticking up in every direction like he swiped his hand through his wet hair. Cas smiles and watches as obvious relief replaces the worry in Dean’s eyes. He feels Dean’s thumb stroke his cheek and that’s when he realizes how close they are and that Dean is cupping his face. He watches Dean’s eyes dip from his eyes to his lips. 

Dean leans in slowly and Cas mirrors him. This moment feels like the night they spent in the house. Cas hopes that this time Dean doesn’t run. The tips of their noses touch and Cas holds his breath. He feels Dean’s fingers curl against the side of his face and both of their eyes close. Dean’s lips press against Cas’. They’re warm and soft and Cas kisses back. 

There’s a lurch in his chest and a thump of his heart. It beats a second time, the full beat that he has longed for for who knows how long. It’s jarring and lovely and somewhat magical of a feeling. He breaks the kiss, his heart restarting.

Dean presses his forehead to his and all he can see is the meadows of green in Dean’s eyes. It feels like a lot. Standing in water that he can feel with a heart that is slamming inside of his chest and the most wonderful man in his arms… It feels like living. 

Dean kisses him again, his lips crashing against Cas’. He feels Dean’s hands in his hair and his tongue in his mouth. Cas pulls Dean closer. Their entire bodies are pressed together, but still Cas yearns to be closer.

“Move away from it, Dean,” John Winchester’s voice orders. They break apart and Dean immediately steps between them, his arms caging Cas behind him. Cas can now feel his heart beating in fear as he stares down the barrel of a gun. “Now.” 

“No. You have to listen to me. They’re changing. He’s changed. Fuck, I’ve changed. Dad, we can’t shoot first and ask questions later,” Dean says, standing tall and broad to protect Cas. 

“You’re infected, aren’t you?” John asks. His eyes are cold. His jaw is set. It’s barely a question. 

“No. What the fu-” 

John’s finger squeezes the trigger. Cas sees it happen but he can’t move fast enough. Dean sags, his head bowing as he looks down. Dean’s arms have dropped. He’s touching his stomach as he falls. Cas steps forward to catch Dean and feels a bullet rip into his shoulder. Pain bursts, but it seems insignificant as he watches Dean stumble. He finally notices how red the water is around him. 

Cas holds Dean against his chest even as his arms shake from the agony he feels. He wonders if Dean can feel his heart beating against his cheek. His paling cheek. His eyes aren’t focusing. His lips are red. 

Dread. That’s all Cas can feel as he holds Dean against him. He can’t lose him. Not after everything. He can’t. 

“Next one’s the head,” John warns. 

Cas doesn’t bother looking up from Dean’s face. If John shoots him, he’ll be happy with the last thing he saw being Dean. 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is barely above a whisper. He reaches up and touches Cas’ shoulder gently, his fingers coming away with red. That’s a new color for Cas. “You’re bleeding.” 

A third gunshot rings out and Cas clings to Dean. He’s not ready to say goodbye. He’s not ready for this to be over. Dean grabs onto Cas’ shirt, his eyes shutting tight before his face suddenly relaxes. 

“Dean!” Sam yells. “Cas, bring him here.” 

Cas finally looks up and sees that John is lying where he last stood. Sam is at the edge of the fountain, reaching for them. Cas walks slowly through the water and passes Dean up to Sam. 

“This is Sam Winchester. General Winchester is dead and the situation has changed. Do not kill the corpses. I repeat, do not kill the corpses. Kill skeletons only. I need medics now. Ready the surgery. We have two gunshots,” Sam says into a radio. He presses his fingers two Dean’s throat and nods to himself. “Two confirmed alive. Get here now!” 

“Sam,” Cas says as he makes it out of the fountain. “I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Sam waves him off. “Cas? Cas!”

Cas falls beside Dean, fainting as his newly pumping blood spills out of his shoulder. 


	12. Chapter 12

Dean wakes up slowly. He has a vague memory of waking up a few times before, but between the distant pain and the medicines, he wasn’t able to stay awake for long. Now, he looks around. He doesn’t remember ever waking up in the med bay before. 

“Hey,” Sam says. Dean looks past Sam. On the next bed is Cas. His eyes are closed and his chest is bandaged. “You’re okay. He’s okay, too. He’s more okay than you are.” 

“What happened? Why is he…? Where…? Did Dad shoot me? Is it over? Did we win?” The room starts spinning so Dean stops with his questions, shutting his eyes tight. 

“Take it easy. We don’t have to talk about all of that right now,” Sam says. 

“I have to know,” Dean says through a clenched jaw. “Either from you or someone else. I will get out of this bed if you make me.”

“Fine!” Sam puts a hand on Dean’s arm. “We won. The skeletons are dead. We have soldiers bringing in the rest of the corpse- others. We’re figuring out what to do and I will let you know when that happens, but right now we’re bringing them into the city and putting them where we can.  Yes, Dad shot you. He shot you and then he shot Cas and then I shot him. He was going to kill you, Dean. If I hadn’t gotten there in time…”

“But you did get there in time,” Dean says without opening his eyes. “Well, a little late if I’m completely honest.”

“Shut up.” He can hear the smile in his brother’s voice before it turns serious again. “Bobby took over commanding the army so I could be here. He’s keeping me informed, but he has it handled.”

“What about Cas?” Dean asks. He’s on the verge of sleep again. He tries to open his eyes and fails. 

“He took a hit to the shoulder. They got the bullet out. He’s bleeding red, Dean. His heart is beating and he’s breathing on his own. He’s alive.”

“He’s alive,” Dean repeats softly. 

“You love him, don’t you?”

“With everything I’ve got,” Dean sighs as he slips under and back to his dreams.   
  


. . .

Recovery is slow, but it goes faster once Dean is allowed back in his room. Sam had cleaned up what mess was left from Cas’ makeover and prepared the room for two. Dean leans on Sam as he takes the stairs up to his motel room slowly, but his eyes are at the top of the stairs where Cas waits. His arm is in a sling and he’s still bandaged, but he’s wearing another one of Dean’s shirts. 

Cas is healing from more than just his gunshot wound. His broken wrist is splinted and wrapped, needing to heal now that he’s alive. His other wounds all received multiple stitches and bandages. He’s more bandage than skin under Dean’s baggy t-shirt, but he’s still radiant. 

The mixtape he’d gifted to Cas is playing when he walks into his room. After they get Dean situated on his bed, Sam makes a swift exit, leaving Cas and Dean alone. 

“Does it hurt?” Dean asks. 

“Yeah.” Cas smiles a little as he says it.   
  


. . .

“Where are you going?” Sam asks. Dean looks over his shoulder at his little brother. Sam is leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching with raised eyebrows as Dean packs his bag. 

“The wall is down, Cas and I are healed, the sun is shining, and I have a car waiting for me,” Dean grins. He turns back around and starts shoving his shirts back into the bag. “We’re headed back to his home… at the airport.” 

“Why? Isn’t that a little… morbid?” 

“Why would it be morbid?” Dean takes the mixtape from his player and drops it into his bag before zipping it. “All of his stuff is there. Also, that food court is packed with stuff.” 

He knows he’s lying. Well, not completely. Cas does want his things and the food court does have tons of canned goods and bottled water, but it’s something else. This place is filled with bad memories. It’s where his dad had ruled, benevolent to most, but never to Dean. It’s where his life without his mother started. It’s where people shook in fear every time soldiers had to kill the zombies. It’s where he raised his family and lost them. He needs to get away for a little bit. Part of him doesn’t want to come back. 

“How long will you be gone?”

Dean shrugs noncommittally. “A few days.” With Cas, his few days had turned into a week. A week of reading books, dancing to music, eating out of cans, and falling in love. He throws his bag over his shoulder and stops at the door to give his brother a hug. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will. I’m more worried about Cas,” Sam teases as they step away from each other again. 

“You’ll kill me if I hurt him and all that jazz?” Dean smirks. Sam nods with a grin. Dean puts his sunglasses on and flashes a smile before stepping out the door.   
  


. . .

Cas waits where Dean told him to. He’s sitting on a bench looking out over the garden that’s been feeding this community for years. Colors have become more vibrant since his heart restarted. He’s one of the living now. He takes a deep breath through the nose and sighs it out with a smile. He’s alive. 

M plops down on the seat next to him. Her movements are a lot less strained. Her clothes have been washed and so has her hair. Her skin still holds that deathly pallor and her brown eyes are still glassy and pale. 

“M,” Cas greets. 

“Meg,” she corrects. “Suits me b-better.” 

“Where have you been?” Cas hasn’t seen her much since the night he was shot. There had been a lot of confusion about where to house the incoming new residents and Cas had been preoccupied with his and Dean’s recoveries. He knows only that Meg is rooming with a guy named Tom. 

“Flirting.” She smiles and it’s a million times better than the stiff one she used to attempt. She nods toward a living woman with flaming red hair. 

“She’s cute.”

“So is Deeean,” she teases. 

Cas shoves her playfully, feeling his cheeks heat. He loves that feeling: blushing. It doesn’t happen every time Dean’s mentioned, but sometimes if they’re caught kissing or gently teased, a fire lights under Cas’ skin, warming him as his heart beats faster. 

“What’s her name?” 

“Charlie.” 

Since he’s become alive, Cas has started collecting names like he used to collect everything else. He holds onto the one Dean gave him the tightest, clutching it to his chest afraid of losing it as he had lost his last one. He will never be C ever again. 

“Ready to go, Cas?” Dean asks. “Hey, M.”

“Meg,” Cas corrects proudly. Meg smiles and Dean nods with a small smile of his own. 

“Sorry. Meg,” he says. 

“Where...are you g-going?” Meg asks, nodding to the bag that’s hoisted over Dean’s shoulder. “Rrrunning away?” 

“We’re just visiting the airport,” Dean says his voice dropping. Cas tilts his head in question, but Dean only shakes his head and puts on his smile again. “We’ll be back.” 

“Goodbye, Meg,” Cas says as he takes Dean’s hand.

“Get… a room,” she shoots back with a smirk. 

They laugh before they walk away, content to hold hands. They walk more like a couple out for a nice stroll in the park rather than a couple escaping the city for an indefinite amount of time. 

“Cas?” Dean asks, looking over at him as they walk. His eyes are shielded by sunglasses, but Cas can still feel his gaze. 

“Dean?” Cas answers. 

“Do you remember your old name? Before Cas? Before Cccck?” 

“No. I like Cas,” he says after a moment. 

“Me too.” Dean smiles before raising their linked hands to press a kiss to Cas’. 


	13. Chapter 13

The wall only came down a few hours ago. Walking over the rubble before it’s been cleared away feels cathartic for Dean, stepping on the shattered pieces of what his father had built. Once they make it past the wall, Dean and Cas are really alone again. For the first time in months, Dean can breathe again. He’s glad everyone’s safe, but the city is overcrowded and there’s no longer such a thing as privacy. 

When they make it to Dean’s car, Cas waits in the passenger seat as Dean fills the gas tank with the stuff he siphoned from the other abandoned cars on the way. He puts the empty gas can in the trunk and plops into the driver’s seat with the smile of a kid in a toy store. 

“Music?” he asks as he hotwires. Cas grabs Dean’s bag from the backseat and digs out their mixtape. 

“What does it say?” Cas asks. 

“Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx,” Dean answers. He glances over at Cas who is running his fingers over the first word gently. 

“That’s your name?”

Dean nods and watches as Cas stares for a moment longer. Cas has started remembering things better. The longer he’s alive, the more he improves. Sam had offered to teach him how to read again when he was ready. Dean thinks he’s ready. 

“Want to see yours?” Dean asks. Cas looks over at him, his blue eyes piercing with questions. Dean reaches into his bag and fishes out a black sharpie. He takes the tape and writes “Cas and” before his own name. He caps the pen and points to Cas’ name. “That’s yours. Cas.”

Cas takes the tape back and studies it silently, his eyes bright. Dean smiles softly and starts their drive. Driving is a major improvement to the slow shuffled walk the first time around. It helps that he’s not being kidnapped this time. 

It feels unreal that the drive to the airport isn’t a long one. The walk had taken at least a day if not two. Their escape from the airport to the suburbs had seemed longer, but realistically, it probably only lasted twenty or thirty minutes in the pouring rain. 

When Dean sees the first sign for the airport, his heart skips a beat. He never thought he would miss an airport. Period. Now, his heart soars as he remembers his first week with Cas. He grips Cas’ hand excitedly and speeds up. “Almost there.”   
  


. . .

Cas peers out the window as Dean drives. He’s still not used to the world moving by so quickly, but he knows he’s fine as long as Dean is the one driving. He can see a massive building with airplanes parked around the back. 

It feels weird to see his old home with his new eyes. His life now consists of before and after. Before, this place was dull and gray. It had slow-moving occupants that were blurs of unfamiliar faces smeared with the blood of their last meal. Now, it looks like an abandoned building with a history. Vines he’d never noticed climb up the sides. Cars, busted open luggage, carts, and bodies litter the ground around the building. Grass and weeds poke up through cracks in the pavement. Some of the massive windows are broken and Cas wonders how he had never noticed that before. 

Dean drives through the grass to get to the tarmac. It’s a strange thing to have memories. He remembers when he and Dean drove on the tarmac for the first time. It’s one of the oldest memories he has and it’s only from a few months ago. 

When he sees his airplane, his heart speeds up as if to prove that he’s not dead this time. To someone else, it might just look like a simple white plane with a red stripe. It might look nondescript among a graveyard of other planes, but this one is special. Dean parks right next to the stairs that lead up to the closed door and they both look up at it through the windshield.

“Ready?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Cas answers as he gets out. 

It doesn’t smell great outside. There’s a certain stench of rotting flesh and decay wafting through the air. He tries not to breathe through his nose as he thinks that he used to smell like this all the time. 

He holds onto the handrail and starts climbing. When he gets to the door, he grips the metal handle and takes a deep breath. He can feel Dean’s hand on his back, offering him silent support. What if it doesn’t look the same? What if all he sees is a hoarder’s mess and not his home, meticulously organized? What if, what if, what if? 

He pushes open the door and lets out the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. It’s still his. His favorite decorations are still hanging from the luggage bins. He still knows where everything is and he still loves all of it. On the floor is still the slept-in airline blanket of Dean’s. The record player is still out, ready for the next dance. 

Cas walks carefully through his plane, running his fingers over the filthy seats. It’s going to take a miracle to fit all of this inside of that car. He picks up a snow globe and shakes it, sending the glitter and fake snow flying within its glass cage. 

Cas hears his record player sputter to life and turns to see Dean standing over it, placing the needle carefully. When the first notes play, Cas feels it. The notes no longer fly past him. He wiggles his head to the jaunty tune as he walks toward Dean. 

“ _ Heartbeat,” _ Buddy Holly’s voice sings from the record player. “ _ Why do you miss when my baby kisses me?” _

Dean’s hand slips into Cas’, the other on his waist as he pulls him close. Their lips meet as Cas rests his free hand on Dean’s shoulder and he knows exactly what the song is singing about for the first time. He kisses back, his heart jumping in his chest. Dean breaks their kiss and smiles, just the right side of his lips quirking up as his green eyes shine. He guides their joined movements and this time, Cas can feel the beat of the music and doesn’t fall. 

“ _ Heartbeat…” _ Cas can’t feel Dean’s as he once had, but he’s glad that he can feel his own, strong in his own chest as he dances. He lets his hand slip from Dean’s shoulder to his chest and feels the thrumming under his palm.   
  


. . .

Dean dips Cas and he presses another kiss to his lips. His heart speeds up under Cas’ hand as their lips part, fitting together perfectly. The kiss breaks, eyes locked as their faces remain close. Dean brings Cas back up to standing, their dancing positions forgotten.

Dean presses his hand to Cas’ chest and feels the rapid heartbeat that didn’t used to be there. Their faces remain a breath away as they stand in silence. Dean could drown in his blue eyes and be happy about it. 

“Cas,” he whispers, his throat tight. 

“Dean.” 

“ _ It’s so easy to fall in love _ ,” the record player chimes in as Dean and Cas drop their hands and close the rest of the distance between them, lips colliding as they tangle into each other’s arms. 

There’s kissing and then there’s this. For months, it’s been holding hands and gentle, restrained kisses. Pecks on the cheek, nose, forehead, and lips. Cas had stayed in Dean’s room, in the same bed, but with the housing crisis after the insurgence of new residents, Sam had moved back into Dean’s room, occupying the next bed. This is the first time their kisses have become feverish and urgent, their lips wanting, tongues taking. 

This time when they crash to the floor, there’s nothing unintentional about it. Cas pins Dean to the blanket, their hands linked above his head. Cas nibbles on Dean’s lower lip as he presses his hips to Dean’s. They’re both hard and Cas pressing against Dean elicits a moan. Dean’s hands tighten on Cas’ as he feels the kisses trail from his lips, across his jaw, and down to his neck. 

Cas releases Dean’s hands to run them down his body and up his shirt. He lifts the shirt off and tosses it to the side as he looks at Dean’s bared torso. He runs his fingers gently over the newest scar before pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin. 

“Why?” Dean asks, lifting his head to look at Cas. 

“Because I love you,” he answers, his eyes locked onto Dean’s. “Every part, scars included.” Dean sits up and grabs Cas’ face, kissing him roughly. Cas loves him. It’s been implied. It’s existed in their looks, the brushes of their hands, his head on his chest when they sleep, and the whispered conversations. Never out loud. 

“I love you,” Dean says as soon as he breaks the kiss, Dean’s hands still on either side of Cas’ face. If there was a way to take the shirt off of Cas and kiss him at the same time, Dean would. He quickly yanks the shirt off and smiles crookedly when he sees the scar from where he’d stabbed him upon their first meeting. “Scars included.” 

He kisses the dagger-sized scar before Cas steals his mouth with his own. They laugh into each other’s mouths as they fall back to the floor again. Dean undoes Cas’ pants blindly and quickly. He sucks on Cas’ tongue as he kicks the jeans off. 

They break apart, breathing heavily as they both scramble out of the rest of their clothes, no longer willing to wait. Bared to each other, they stare for a moment, drinking the other in. Cas’ tanned skin is smooth despite the scars. He’s broad with muscles that ripple under his skin. 

Dean pulls Cas back down to him, his hand on the back of his neck, fingers in the thick hair that drives him crazy. He can feel Cas against his thigh, stiff and hot. Dean turns his face and grabs Cas’ hand, bringing it to his mouth and sucking on his fingers. Cas’ kisses don’t stop, his teeth scraping against Dean’s throat. 

His fingers lubed with Dean’s spit, Dean guides Cas’ hand down. Cas runs his wet fingers over Dean’s hole and smiles against his throat when Dean lets his head fall back. Dean keeps his hand on Cas’ as he teases him. He bites down on his lip as Cas’ finger pushes inside of him. 

“Cas,” Dean groans. His next sounds are muffled by Cas’ mouth. As he stretches, Cas adds another finger carefully. Dean sucks in a sharp breath as Cas sucks on his lower lip. He starts pumping slowly as Dean relaxes into it. When he’s stretched and Cas keeps bringing him closer and closer to the edge, Dean stops him. 

Dean flips them so Cas is on his back, looking up at Dean with those eyes. He tilts his head and Dean crouches between Cas’ sprawled legs, running his tongue up Cas’ thigh and kissing his balls before licking up his stiff dick. He keeps his eyes locked with Cas’ as he takes Cas’ dick into his mouth and swirls his tongue around the staff. 

Cas reaches for Dean’s hand and their fingers lace together on Cas’ hip as Dean drags his lips from tip to base and back. A bead of precum starts to drip down the head and Dean catches it on his tongue. He crawls up, straddling Cas and feeling his erection perfectly between his ass cheeks as he sits. 

“You are gorgeous,” Cas whispers as Dean leans over to kiss him. He reaches back and positions Cas’ dick at his ready hole. He lowers his ass as he guides Cas into him and closes his eyes, exhaling as Cas gasps. He keeps going until he’s completely filled. Their foreheads are pressed together, one of Cas’ hands is cupping Dean’s jaw, keeping them stuck somewhere between a kiss. 

Dean slowly rides him, carefully getting used to the feeling of his size. His hands tighten and he realizes he has his hands balled in Cas’ hair. He settles into a rhythm and feels a rush when he hears Cas moan. 

Cas’ other hand grips Dean’s cock between them and starts pumping to the same rhythm as Dean’s riding. Dean tilts his face to lock lips with Cas again, starving for all of him at once. 

He knows neither of them is going to last long. It’s been more than awhile for both of them and Dean is already close. He has to break the kiss. They’re both panting now, their heavy breaths mingling between them as they open their eyes for green to meet blue. 

“Oh, Cas!” Dean moans as he spills over in ecstasy. Dean’s rhythm broken by orgasm, Cas picks it up, thrusting from the bottom. Dean captures Cas’ mouth again, biting his lip gently before slipping his tongue into Cas’ mouth. 

Cas’ groan is muffled by Dean’s lips, but Dean feels himself being filled. He sits up, plunging Cas deeper and feels some of the come leak out. He rests his hand on Cas’ chest and smiles a little when he feels his heart pounding against the palm of his hand.   
  


. . .

Cas is lying on the floor of an old 747 airplane with nothing between him and the well-walked floor but a thin blanket. The love of his life is next to him, pressing kisses to his skin. Neither of them noticed when exactly the record player stopped working or when the afternoon light began to fade. 

“I’m starving,” Dean announces. He gets up and grabs his boxer-briefs. Cas watches him as he pulls them on. His ass looks like it’s sculpted from marble. He walks over to his old stash of canned food and picks out a large can for their dinner. 

He opens the can and comes back over to Cas, sitting down in one of the seats where his sweater is laid out. Dean takes a bite of whatever it is and hands the can to Cas. 

“I could stay here forever,” Dean sighs as Cas takes a bite. He misses biting into memories, but this food is still filling. The longer he’s alive, the more he forgets the memories that kept him going from meal to meal. Lisa’s memories are slower to fade, but as he makes a life with Dean, his own memories take her place.

“I did stay here forever,” Cas says around his mouthful. He looks around at his decorated home and wonders again why they’re packing it up. 

“I don’t want to go back.” Dean takes the can back from Cas and takes another bite. “When you took me away from that pharmacy…”

“You wanted to go back then,” Cas says quietly, remembering the fear in his favorite green eyes. 

“No. I was just scared. If I ran, I’m not sure I would have gone back. I would have eventually… to make sure Sam was okay.” He sighs again, frustrated. “It’s crowded with people and memories that I don’t want to think about. And then I come here and it’s quiet and has your favorite things and all of my favorite memories. I know I can’t stay in an airplane for the rest of my life though.” 

“I’d like to live in a house,” Cas says, folding his arms under his head and gazing up at the dangling decorations. The only house he’s ever been in was the one the night Dean left and he dreamed for the first time. It’s the only house he wants to live in. “Your car parked in the garage —”

“Is that a euphemism?” Dean laughs.

“No.” Cas shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “Your literal car in my literal garage.”

“And your  _ car _ in my  _ garage _ ,” Dean says, still laughing. His laugh is still the most precious noise in the entire world. Cas smiles up at him adoringly. 

“I want a room with one bed where we sleep together every night. I want bookshelves in the living room filled with my collection. Records can play and we’ll dance whenever we want. I want a home with you. I want a place that doesn’t remind you of anything bad. Where you can smile and laugh and read to me…”

“Let’s do that. I want that,” Dean says. 

“Yeah…” They can’t. They have a life in the city. Dean is a soldier and Cas is… Cas is recovering from being dead. Sam lives in the city. Everyone does. The wall only came down yesterday. 

“We can go to the house that we stayed in that night,” Dean says seriously. “We can pack up your things and make that our home. We can replace the mattress with mine from my room. We can make a home, Cas.” 

“Our home,” Cas repeats Dean’s words, the excitement warming him.  
  


. . .

It took a few trips of driving between the airport and their new home, but Dean closes the trunk of the Impala on the last of the record collection and gets in the driver’s seat. Cas is staring out the window at his airplane. 

Dean looks up at the rundown thing. The cockpit had been smeared with blood and probably brain. The seats of the plane were either stiff with dirt or blood, Dean doesn’t want to think about it. It’s empty now, but it still holds a snapshot of a low point for humanity. 

He reaches for Cas’ hand and presses a kiss to his hand before he shifts into drive and pulls away from the empty plane.   
  


. . .

“I’m sure I could have walked in on worse,” Sam says. Dean looks over his shoulder to see the amused look on his brother’s face. “What are you two doing?”

“Stealing what’s rightfully mine,” Dean grunts.

“We’re taking the mattress,” Cas explains, his voice muffled by the mattress between them. 

Dean sees Sam’s smile slip. “Where are you taking the mattress?” 

Dean looks away, burying his face in it as he lifts again and takes a few steps backward. They make it through the door before Sam puts his hand on Dean’s arm. “We’re moving out of this dump. There’s a suburb a few miles from here.”

“What about… your job? Me? Everything?” Sam gestures around them. The city is bustling with the activity that Dean and Cas are eager to leave behind. 

“I told Bobby I can’t be a soldier anymore.” Dean looks down. He was only ever a soldier because his father had made him into one. He had never been good enough either. “I’m going to be fixing the houses. Putting in solar panels, hooking up the plumbing… Make the houses livable… You? You can stay or you can move into one of the other houses or you can go check out the airport. Doesn’t matter where you go. You’re my brother and it’s my job to annoy you until I die. Then I get to haunt your ass and continue to annoy you forever,” he promises. “Now please help me get this thing on the car.” 


	14. Chapter 14

Cas roams. He’ll never get tired of it. He roams around their house, taking in that the things around him belong to them. He wanders into the kitchen where Dean is cooking. He hugs his boyfriend from behind and nibbles playfully at his neck. He can’t remember a time when he was happier than he is now. He’s glad that they made their home here. 

After going through the stores at that forgotten mall where the battle took place, Cas had been able to find himself his own clothes. He has a suit again. There’s not a stain or a smudge on it. The blue tie is fresh and clean. Dean had helped him tie it and immediately flipped it backward, giggling and stopping Cas from ever righting it. His new trenchcoat is immaculate. There’s some plaid under the collar that Dean likes. The tan is still that. Tan. It looks like he had always imagined his old clothes must have looked before he had died. 

That’s not to say he doesn’t still share Dean’s clothes. There’s something comforting in the soft band t-shirts and faded blue jeans. He likes to wear them when he’s working outside with Dean, setting up solar panels and fixing the broken windows and doors. At night, they wear nothing at all. 

He’s hungry and his stomach let’s him know it, rumbling loudly. The smells of Dean’s cooking only makes it worse. It smells so good, it makes his mouth water. Because he can feel that now. He can feel hunger and pain. He can feel temperatures and recall memories. He can feel his heartbeat, finally, because Cas is alive. Well and truly living. 

There’s a knock at the door and Cas lifts his head from where it had been nuzzled in Dean’s neck. They both look toward the door before Cas retracts his arms from around Dean’s waist and goes to answer. There’s a small group assembled on the front porch. Sam is holding a bowl of salad, the only dish Dean had explicitly told his brother he would not be serving. Meg and Charlie both stand a full foot shorter than Sam. Meg still hasn’t transitioned fully, her eyes still clouded, but her deterioration has stopped. Her fingers are laced with Charlie’s. 

“Welcome,” Cas says, stepping to the side to invite the dinner guests in. He leads them to the dining room where five places are already set. The dining table, chairs, and dishes had all survived the apocalypse, so Dean and Cas had only had to clean them of the layers of dust they had all acquired over the years. Sam puts the salad in the center of the table before taking his seat. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Dean calls from the kitchen. That’s Cas’ cue. He walks back into the kitchen and helps grab the serving dishes. They line them up down the middle of the table and Dean doesn’t try to hide his mock disgust at the salad that now adorns his table. 

“For you,” Dean says to Meg as he serves a raw slab of pig meat onto her plate. Judging by the look on her face, this is a good substitute for the human flesh she used to eat. Cas is glad he’s over that phase in his life. He would much rather the burger that Dean made. There’s no bread for the buns, but Dean says it’s just as good. Cas doesn’t know what he’s missing. He doesn’t remember anything from before, and these burgers are great. 

“Were you planning on having any vegetables besides the lettuce on your burger?” Sam asks, serving himself some salad after receiving a burger from Dean. 

“Dean says that ketchup is a vegetable,” Cas informs him, picking up the jar of ketchup they made. 

“Dean!” Sam scolds. 

“You’re outnumbered,” Charlie says. “Ketchup is totally a vegetable.”

“Cheers,” Dean grins. Sam sighs with a small smile as he shakes his head. “How are things in the city?” Dean asks after everyone has food on their plates or in their hands. 

“Good. You could always visit, you know. No one’s going to ask you to be a soldier again,” Charlie says. “Sam visits.”

“Sam still works there,” Dean corrects. 

“When are the rest of the houses going to be ready for some tenants?” Sam asks, stabbing his salad. 

“We have one more house ready,” Cas says as Dean answers, “Never.” 

There’s only one house that’s set up with solar panels and water access, but there’s a ways to go. The construction crew from the city is still helping move rubble from the wall, repurposing the sheets of metal and hunks of concrete. This is Dean’s project. Well, Dean and Cas’. 

Sam had moved into the house across the street from Dean and Cas once it was made livable. He walks to the city every other day to work. He mostly helps Bobby, straightening out their armed forces, relocating people to construction work or agriculture. When he’s not needed there, he helps out where he can in the makeshift hospital. 

Meg still lives with Tom. He brings her to work with him, though she still can’t help much. Sometimes she wanders off to find Charlie who cooks and bakes using whatever food is scavenged or grown. 

Everyone seemed to find their place after the initial obstacles of a major increase in population all at once. Buildings were repurposed. Living people with room to spare took in the ones who were still changing. Everyone is learning how to live again. Even some of the living had forgotten how to do that. The living began to accept the changing. Not only accept, but connect and teach. Step by step, the world is coming back to life. Everyone just needed a little patience and a little love.   
  


. . .

Cas turns on his side. Dean is facing him, his green eyes open and illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. He smiles and Cas runs his thumb over his lips gently. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas whispers back. He lets his hand fall from Dean’s mouth to his chest, resting just over his tattoo so he can feel the thumping of his heartbeat. Dean copies him, pressing his palm against Cas’ chest. His heartbeat is what brought Cas, and the world, back to life. His heartbeat is home.

**The End**


	15. Chapter 15

Huge thank you to my artist partner, Sissyray84! I had so much fun working on this fic and then getting to see some scenes come to life with this beautiful artwork was amazing. Check out their [Tumblr](https://sissyray84.tumblr.com/) and [Flickr](https://www.flickr.com/photos/sissyray84/) for more of their artwork! 


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